


Fifty Shades of Phantomhive

by PandoraButler



Series: Fifty Shades of Phantomhive [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: 50 Shades of Grey - Freeform, 50 shades of fucked up, Black Butler - Freeform, F/M, Fifty Shades of Grey, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Kuroshitsuji - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Soul Eater References, idk - Freeform, it's just the book, it's the book where everything is the same except grey is vincent phantomhive, the undertaker is adrian crevan, vintaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-07-10 20:30:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 40,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19911745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraButler/pseuds/PandoraButler
Summary: The book "50 Shades of Grey" where everything is the same except Christian Grey is actually just Vincent Phantomhive because that guy has severe Vincent vibes and no one can prove me otherwise.





	1. Chapter 1

The mirror resting on the wall before him revealed his frustrating hair. He scowled. He should be studying for his final exams. He wasn't. Instead, he was standing here, trying to make sense of the hair resting on his head. _I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet._ He repeated this to himself over and over again, trying to tame it. He had never had much luck with his hair. Why should today be any different? He rolled his eyes, throwing the brush on the sink, glaring at his existence. The silver-haired wonder grabbed a hair tie and restrained his locks into a ponytail, hoping to the gods that be it might look somewhat decent.

Grell Sutcliff, Adrian Crevan's roommate, has decided that today of all days she must be sick. She had spent hours and hours badgering Mr. Phantomhive's company for this interview. She'd sold her soul, pleaded on her hands and knees, and refused to leave anyone alone on the matter. Adrian had no choice but to go in her stead. The trip would be a long one. And Grell just _had_ to get sick on the day of departure. 

"Dri, I'm really sorry. I spent nine months begging on my hands and knees to get this interview. It'll take another six months for me to reschedule. I can't do that. We will be graduated by then! Please, please, pretty please with a cherry on top just suffer through it for me," Grell, on her knees currently, clings to Adrian's legs crying her eyes out. Adrian frowned. Even sick, this wonderous red-head has such fabulous features. He sighed. 

"I've already agreed to go, you idiot," Adrian grabbed Grell's hands and helped her back to bed. "Even though I know absolutely nothing about him and have zero questions to ask but, hey, that's fine," he mumbled. 

"You've got my notes. You'll be okay," Grell closed her eyes and curled up into a ball under the sheets. Why did she have to get the flu? Honestly, why today, of all days? This was a nightmare. But, it was time to drive. If he didn't leave now he would be late arriving.

...

Upon reaching the destination of utter destruction, Adrian could only hold his breath in utter terror. The glass building, twenty-stories, something of a fantasy. 'Funtom Company' plastered on the side in a font unrecognizable to the poor boy from the cheapest university that existed in America. He checked his watch. Still a bit early. But, there isn't anything for him to do other than sit in the lobby and wait for his terror to end. 

Behind the solid sandstone desk of doom, was a very attractive (or so Adrian assumed, being the chaotic homosexual that he was) brunette. Adrian glanced around. Every female in this building was a brunette. Was that a mandatory part of the resume? Adrian frowned. He was already self-conscious enough about his brilliant silver hair...he didn't need more reasons to leave. His clothing wasn't nearly as fancy as anyone else's. He was wearing jeans for crying out loud. He didn't even own dress clothes! Shit. He should've worn a better button-up. This was not something you should wear upon meeting the richest man in the, uh, probably world? 

"I'm here to see Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian's voice cracked. That made him look like an idiot. 

"Do you have an appointment?" the (probably sexy) lady asked. 

"I'm Adrian Crevan for Grell Sutcliff. She had an appointment for an interview?" Adrian didn't know for sure what the situation was. Hopefully, he was saying things correctly. What are words? 

"Miss Sutcliff is expected," she nodded. "Please sign in here and wait just a moment, Mr. Crevan." She slid a 'visitor' pass over. Adrian nearly snorted. Shouldn't that be obvious? Does he look like he belonged here? He stands out against these marble floors. His clothing was ragged and his hair was in a crude ponytail. He doesn't belong here. 

"Follow me, Mr. Crevan," she escorted him to the elevator. The top floor was waiting. Adrian nervously fiddles with his badge. The more he stood the more he realized how stupid of an idea this all was. He knew nothing about Mr. Phantomhive. He didn't know his age, what he even does at this company, how he looks. Nothing. Why didn't he google him the night before? At least that would've given him some idea of what to expect. He also had no idea what questions he was supposed to ask. Where was the recorder? Adrian checked his pockets. Please be there... _please_? 

The elevator doors open and she gestured to the seats lined up inside the lobby. There was only one room. The floor was big for only having one door. There was a desk, a few more brunettes, and glass...lots of glass. Adrian was stunned by the view. He was tempted to walk over to the window and press his face against it. However, he quenched that desire. 

Adrian finally built up enough courage to speak when Brunette Number One walked over to him with a second brunette. They look at each other and Brunette Number One hands over responsibility to Brunette Number Two and walked away. "Mr. Phantomhive will see you now," she gestured to the door. "There is no need to knock. Please, go right on in." 

He walked over to the door. He stared at it. He held the handle carefully in his hands but can't seem to turn it for the life of him. The door opened all on its own. A Chinese male stood to stare at him. Mr. Phantomhive? No. It can't be. Adrian squinted. Are his eyes closed? Who was this guy? "My, my, it appears you have a visitor, Mr. Phantomhive," he snickered. Adrian doesn't enjoy being snickered at. "I was just on my way out if you don't mind," he gestured to the doorway Adrian was currently blocking with his body. Adrian sidesteps. He snickered again, hiding his mouth behind his sleeve, and walked away. His shoes made noise against the marble floors. 

"Miss Sutcliff," Adrian's attention was turned back to the one and only leader of this establishment. Holy fucking shit that guy was not at all what Adrian expected. Shining hair the color of a dimly lit sky. Eyes grey pools of endless voids. Adrian wanted to be sucked into them. That blue suit, those grey eyes, that _tie_. Adrian has lost his wit and his voice. 

"I'm Vincent Phantomhive. Would you like to sit?" he took a step back, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. There was one, just one. Does he never see multiple people at one time? 

Adrian, too distracted by the hair color, eyes, and general appearance of Mr. Phantomhive to pay attention to walking, takes one step and fell promptly on his face. Shit. What a way to make an entrance. Mr. Phantomhive placed his hands firmly on his arms, close to his shoulders, and helped Adrian up without another word. 

"Um, actually--" Adrian tried to form a sentence without thinking about the hands around his arms. The closeness of Mr. Phantomhive to him was quite...well... _close_. How old was he? He can't be over thirty. Not with that face of his. Adrian took another breath in and out before speaking, "Miss Sutcliff was unable to attend so she sent me. I hope you don't mind, Mr. Phantomhive." 

"And you are?" he asked. His voice has a warmth to it. If he was amused, it wasn't showing on his face or in his question. He was simply smiling a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Those eyes are voids. The longer Adrian stared the more terrified (and attracted) he became. 

"Adrian Crevan," he confessed. "I'm studying English literature with Grell, uh, Miss Sutcliff, at the university she is writing the paper for." 

"Would you like to sit?" he repeated, gesturing to the chair. The moment his hands leave Adrian's shoulders he leans forward into them, body drawn to the contact. He hates himself for doing this and barely manages to remain standing. How was he ever going to make it to the chair? He looks around, to distract himself, the room was positively clinical. There wasn't anything decorative in it except a series of paintings strung together in a square. Useless apart, beautiful together. Adrian can't help but be bewildered by it. He stumbled in the direction of the chair, still looking at the picture. 

"I painted them myself," Mr. Phantomhive spoke. He was sitting behind his desk now. Adrian fell into the chair. He was going to just sit in it, until he fell in the chair, like the dumbass that he was. 

"Breathtaking really, raising the ordinary to extraordinary," Adrian glanced from him to the paintings, he can't tell which he was talking about. Both Mr. Phantomhive and the paintings were both...well, breathtaking really. Everything else in this room was cold, distant, white and icey. The painting was the only decor. Just as Mr. Phantomhive was the only true beauty in this entire building of brunettes and marble. 

"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Crevan," he replied. Memory returns to Adrian. He fumbled around in his bag for that notebook of questions and destroyed his pocket trying to find the recorder. Ecstatic to have found it, he struggled to set it up on Mr. Phantomhive's desk. Those cold eyes stared at him without revealing any emotion whatsoever. Adrian became flustered, dropping the recorder a good five times. Mr. Phantomhive said nothing. He was watching with his hand cupping his chin, trailing his index finger across his lips. Was he trying to suppress a smile?

"S-sorry," Adrian wanted to slap himself silly for stuttering.

"Take all the time you need, Mr. Crevan."

It was only after he'd finished setting up the recorder that he realized he should've asked for permission first. So, like the dumbass that he was, he asked, "Do you mind if I record your answers?" 

"You ask me _now_? After all of that trouble you took to set it up?" Adrian blushed. He was teasing, right? He was teasing. Please be teasing. Adrian blinks. He remains silent, mentally beating himself on the side of his head with a metal bat. Why was he so much of an idiot? He should've asked first. Fuck. Adrian, why didn't you ask first? 

"No, I don't mind," Mr. Phantomhive said. Relief. Overflowing relief. Adrian was pleased this (severely attractive) man took pity on him. 

"I, uh, have questions," Adrian flipped open the notebook. His face isn't going to get any less red. He just has to come to terms with that fact.

"I thought as much." There was no hint of emotion on this man's face and yet Adrian _knows_ he was laughing at him. In an attempt to look more professional, he sat up straight. Adrian pressed the start button on the recorder. Wait. Could it be...he was taller than Mr. Phantomhive? He didn't know what to do about that. Mr. Phantomhive was so much more...more...dignified and confident than Adrian will ever be. 

"You're very young to have such a successful empire. To what do you owe your success?" Adrian stared at the notebook. This question wasn't very interesting. Mr. Phantomhive looked a bit disappointed with it. 

"Business is about people, Mister Crevan, I'm very good at judging people. I know how they tick, what makes them flourish, what doesn't, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I employ an exceptional team, and I reward them well." He paused only to capture Adrian's eyes in one glance. He held that gaze. He refused to release Adrian from that gaze with some unholy power that he had. "My belief is to achieve success in any scheme one has to make oneself master of that scheme, know it inside and out, know every detail. I work hard, very hard, to do that. I make decisions based on logic and facts. I have a natural gut instinct that can spot and nurture a good solid idea and good people. The bottom line is: it's always down to good people." 

"Are you sure you aren't just lucky?" Adrian can't help but frown. This guy was too confident. He doesn't really enjoy that aspect of him. 

A small sigh of disappointment escaped. Oh shit. Did he just make the richest man in America (possibly the world) mad at him? Fuck. "I don't subscribe to luck or chance, Mister Crevan. The harder I work the more luck I seem to have. It's not about luck, truly, just about having the right team do the right things." 

"You sound like a control freak." A fantastically good looking control freak but a control freak all the same. 

"I exercise control in all things, Mister Crevan." Was that humor? Did Adrian see a glimmer of humor in those voids of grey? No. Impossible. Adrian's heartbeat quickened. Why did he have to be so attractive? And, for fuck's sake, could he stop stroking his lower lip with that index finger of his? Damnit. 

"Immense power is acquired by assuring yourself that you were born to control things," he continued. Ah, he really was a control freak. 

"Do you feel that you have that immense power?" Adrian can't help but scoff. The audacity of this man. 

"I employ over forty thousand people, Mister Crevan. If I were to decide that I wasn't interested in the business and sell the company, forty thousand people would struggle to make their mortgage payments after a month or so by the lack of proper decision making. It's not about _feeling_ I have power. It's about knowing and knowing how to utilize the power." 

Adrian can't help but be disgusted by his lack of humility. His mouth dropped open from the sheer shock of it. "Do you have any interests outside your work?" he asked, trying to change the subject. Mr. Phantomhive needs to learn how to not flex. Honestly, why are you flexing so hard? The fuck? 

"My interests are varied."

"But, what do you do to relax?"

"I'm a rich man, Mister Crevan, I indulge in expensive and absorbing hobbies. Very varied expensive and absorbing hobbies." Well, clearly he isn't going to talk about that. Adrian sighed. What on this list was actually somewhat entertaining? What would Adrian be interested in asking about? 

"Why do you invest in manufacturing, specifically?"

"I like to build things. I enjoy knowing how things work, how they are built, what makes them tick. And, what can I say? I have a love of ships." 

"Speaking from the heart? Not logic?" 

"People say that I don't have a heart, Mister Crevan," and, for a moment, with that singular statement, Adrian sees the expression of the cold man when he truly smiles. The smile reached his eyes, only to disappear again, like a shooting star in the night. 

"Do those people know you well?" Adrian regretted asking this question as soon as he was finished asking it. It wasn't on the list. He was just saying random shit now. Fuck. Why did Grell have to get sick?

"I'm a very private person, Mister Crevan. I go a long way to protect my privacy." 

Okay. Very good answer, not really, Adrian looked down at the list. "You also invest in farming technology, why?" 

"We can't eat money, Mister Crevan, and there are too many people on this planet who don't have enough to eat." 

"Do you feel passionate about feeding the world's poor?" He shrugged at this question. Fake ideology? Why was he so interested in farming then? 

"What is your philosophy?"

"I'm very singularly driven. I like control of myself and those around me. It's what gets things done." He really was a control freak. Fuck. But, a certain someone sitting in a certain chair pretending to be giving a certain interview would love to be controlled by this certain control freak. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to deny that fact. 

"You were adopted, how much do you think that's shaped the way you are?" This was personal. He might not answer. 

"I have no way of knowing," he replied, the disappointed atmosphere returning. _Please don't be mad._ Adrian internally begged.

"Have you had to sacrifice family life for your work?" Another personal question. Fucking shit. Stop it already, Adrian, you're making a fool of yourself.

"I have a family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I'm not interested in extending my family beyond that." 

"Are you gay, Mr. Phantomhive?" Adrian blurted out. Big mistake. What the fuck, Adrian? Really? Did you fully forget how he said he liked to keep things _private_?

Mr. Phantomhive inhales sharply. Fuck. Adrian visibly cringed. Completely mortified. Shit. Why didn't he apply a filter to himself? Fuck you, brain. Fuck you. Curse you and your curiosity. Trying to figure out if he was available for a nice office quickie? Damnit stop thinking with your second head, Adrian. This was a professional interview. Sort of. He hates you now. You got the richest man in existence to hate you. Nice going. How does that ditch look? That's your next home, Adrian. 

"No, Adrian, I am not," he finally stated. There was a cool gleam in his eyes. He didn't look pleased in the slightest. Adrian can't hide his visible disappointment. Of course, he wasn't gay. Why would he be gay? He was the richest man in America (quite possibly the world) he would _never_ be gay. The good ones never are. 

"I'm bisexual."

What? Did Adrian hear that right? _The richest man in the universe is bisexual?_ Should Adrian feel relieved or terrified? Both? Maybe? In any case, time to cover up his curiosity tracks. "I apologize for the question," he stared at the notebook. "It's written here." He thought he was lying, but actually, there was a question like that written here. Grell saved his life. Thank you, Grell. 

"These aren't your own questions?" 

"Er, no, Grell, uh, Miss Sutcliff, complied them for me." 

"Are you colleagues?" No. Definitely not. This is just a favor. Fuck. What was he supposed to say? 

"No," he admitted the truth. "She isn't well and asked me to do this interview for her."

"I see," he said. The door opened. Brunette Number Two from earlier stood there, looking quite visibly embarrassed. Good. It's not just Adrian that's a piping hot mess around this man. 

"Mr. Phantomhive, forgive me, but your next meeting is in two minutes." 

"Cancel the meeting," he replied, without so much as looking at her. Adrian turned his attention back to Mr. Phantomhive, who hasn't stopped staring at him once. 

"Mr. Phantomhive?" she looked visibly distressed. 

"It's fine, I'll, uh, I'll go," Adrian clicked off the recorder and shoved it into his bag. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Phantomhive," he jumped on the chance to escape. He rushed out the door without allowing the man to say anything. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Adrian had to get the hell out of here. He had to go back to his apartment room with Grell and get a nice good sleep. If that was possible, considering his mind would only be thinking about the sexiest richest man in existence and the fact that the sexiest richest man in existence was a bisexual. _Are you gay, Mr. Phantomhive?_ Why the fuck did he ask that? Adrian blushed. He forced his fringe down into his face and stared at the marble floor all the way until reaching his car. Why did he ask that?


	2. Chapter Two

Adrian shuddered at the thought of Mr. Phantomhive. He was the man of dreams in the highest room in the tallest tower. He still couldn't believe he'd just asked the richest, most attractive man if he was gay. Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he think that was a good idea?

"Dri! You're back!" Grell is surrounded by books on the couch in the living room. She is in pink flannel pajamas. The monstrosity. Those things are reserved for general depression, sickness, or breakups. "Thank you so much for doing this, I owe you my life," she smiled. The questions were bound to start pouring out of her in no time. It was her journalist nature.

Before she could say anything, Adrian answered all of the questions she could possibly have. "He was dignified, good-looking, and way out of anybody's league." Adrian threw the recorder at Grell. Grell frowned, noticing that Adrian didn't want to talk about it, but not quite interested in dropping the subject. 

"Dri, you can't be immune to those good looks," Grell saw right through him. Adrian will not blush. Adrian will not blush. Adrian blushed. "So, what did you _really_ think of him?" 

"He is a control freak and completely terrifying. But, he is charismatic and that makes perfect sense for a businessman like himself." Adrian sighed. 

"Oh, come on," Grell rolled her eyes. "He can't be _that_ bad." 

"You weren't there. You don't know how terrible it was. More specifically, how terrible _I_ was," Adrian frowned, shuffling into some work clothes. Time to forget all about Mr. Phantomhive and his sexy stare of pure sex. Gotta get those hours in. Gotta pay those bills. Gotta forget about him. Gotta move on. Glad that was over. Adrian rushed out the door, a talent of his, that is, when he didn't fall on his face while crossing a threshold. 

...

Working at this place was a nightmare. Especially at this time of year when everyone was trying to redecorate. Adrian frowned, glaring at the catalog. He was sitting at the counter behind the register. He wanted everyone to leave so he could go home. However, this hardware store won't set him free. How humiliating. He sighed, staring at the computer screen trying to focus. This fucking sucked (and not in the good kind of suck either). Sucking. The thought briefly crossed Adrian's mind of what it would be like to suck dick. He hadn't done it before...but he'd thought about it enough times. There just wasn't anyone good around to practice on. _Vincent Phantomhive_. Shit. Adrian pushed the thought away. Despite how good that might be...he was at work. Why would Mr. Phantomhive show up here? Of all places? It wasn't even close to where his company was. 

Adrian, for some unknown reason, looked out at the floor to see if anyone recently required some assistance. He blinked. This can't be happening. _Is that-?_ It is. Mr. Phantomhive was standing right in front of him. This isn't his imagination, right? He blinked again. He flinched when Mr. Phantomhive spoke. "Mister Crevan, what a pleasant surprise." Pleasant surprise? Adrian's ass was more pleasant than this. What the fuck was he doing here? Adrian had to drive forty-eight hours just to interview him. Why was the guy _here_? Oh shit. Did he hear his dick sucking thoughts? Was he a genie? No. Wait a minute. A lamp is needed to summon a genie...

"M-Mr. Phantomhive?" Adrian whispered. Please be a figment of his imagination. 

"I was in the area," Adrian suppressed the urge to snort at that complete lie, "and I needed to stock up n a few things. It is a pleasure to see you again, Mister Crevan," Mr. Phantomhive smiled, the smile never reached his eyes. Adrian had to pinch his arm to gather his wits. This man isn't just attractive, he is the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he was here, right in front of Adrian, for reasons he didn't intend to divulge. 

"What can I help you with, Mr. Phantomhive?" customer service 101. Adrian fucking sucked at it when it came to attractive rich men in casual clothing (and not in the good kind of suck either).

"There are a few items I require. First, cable ties," he said. Cable ties. Ah, yes, _every_ rich trillionaire needs those. Cable ties. _Obviously_. 

"We stock in various lengths," Adrian's voice cracked upon saying the word 'lengths.' He wasn't thinking about dicks. Why would he be thinking about dicks? Adrian was a raging homosexual he would _not_ be thinking about Mr. Phantomhive's or anyone else's dick while trying to show the customer cable ties. Obviously not. "Shall I show you?" _My length_. Adrian forced the words down his throat. He can't believe himself for almost saying those two words. Get a grip, Adrian. But, don't get a grip on his dick. That's indecent. You're at work, Adrian. Do work things. 

"Please, guide me, Mister Crevan," he gestured to the floor. Adrian stood up and exited his safety bubble of behind the counter. His legs were wobbling like a newborn fawn. Fuck him. He walked as best as he could despite the circumstances. His only redeeming quality was the way his ass looks in these jeans. Good job, Adrian, you put on your best pair of jeans today. Now you know why. 

Adrian wandered the aisles trying to remember for the life of him where this product was. He had worked in this hardware store for the past four years, you'd think he'd remember. But, no, with the gaze of Mr. Phantomhive on him, he can't even remember to breathe. 

"Are you here on business?" Adrian asked, pointing to the cable ties. He was trying to make conversation. He was also trying to figure out why the fuck Mr. Phantomhive was in this neighborhood, in this hardware store, when he could literally buy out the place and fund his own hardware store. More importantly, couldn't he hire someone to buy these things for him? This couldn't be because Mr. Phantomhive wanted to see Adrian, could it? Of course not. Why would he? Well, Adrian was wearing his best pair of jeans but that wasn't nearly a good enough reason to drive forty-eight hours. 

"I'm visiting a friend," he replied, swiftly, as if he'd expected the question. Adrian didn't buy this response, but before he could so much as think the word 'bullshit' Mr. Phantomhive continued to speak. "I'm funding his research on crop rotation and soil science. I'm visiting him. Two birds with one stone."

"What's the second bird?" Adrian blurted out, without thinking, without even dreaming that Mr. Phantomhive might be here to see him. He can't think about that. It's a dangerous thought. 

"Do you not know?" Mr. Phantomhive smiled a smile that reached his eyes for a fleeting moment. "I was asked to speak at the university's graduation. I'll be in town for a while, Mister Crevan." Ah, graduation, that made sense. Wait. Adrian's graduation? Holy fucking shit. Why the fuck was Mr. Phantomhive speaking at some lowly university in the middle of nowhere? He is the richest man in America (if not the world) he should be speaking at Harvard or Princeton. Not the fucking University of Nowhere. 

Mr. Phantomhive gazed at the cable ties. His fingers trailed along various packages. Adrian looked away. He can't stare at those hands. The way they graze the merchandise. What would it feel like to be touched by Mr. Phantomhive? Damnit. Adrian is too gay for his own good. Mr. Phantomhive picked a package, finally. 

"Is there anything else you need help with?" Adrian asked. Please say yes. Please say yes. Adrian didn't want to go back to sitting behind a counter and staring at a screen for the next few hours of his shift. 

"I'd like some masking tape." 

Uh. Okay. _Why?_ "Are you redecorating?" Adrian raised an eyebrow. Can't he hire someone to do that? Mr. Phantomhive was an enigma. He made zero fucking sense. 

"No," he smirked. There was something lurking in that smirk. A secret Adrian would love to have the time to uncover. His expression laughed at Adrian. What's so funny? Was it Adrian? Was Adrian the joke?

"This way," Adrian walked. He knew where the masking tape was, for, uh, _reasons_. Mr. Phantomhive's gaze alone could burn holes in Adrian's clothing. He was 100% sure of it. He might go home to his apartment only to have Grell ask him why his clothing had eye-shaped holes. 

"I'll take that one," he pointed. Adrian passed it to him. 

"Anything else, Mr. Phantomhive?" 

"Rope," his voice was a bit husky. That dangerous feeling oozed out of him. What was causing this? Why did Adrian feel the need to shrink? What did Mr. Phantomhive need with a rope? Adrian's mind raced as he tried to remember where the fuck the rope was. But first, a more pressing question needed to be asked...

"Synthetic, natural filament, twine, cable cord?" Adrian stopped listing off the types of rope they had in stock when he saw the grey pools known as Vincent's eyes darken a shade or two. He looked a bit more than _dangerous_. Holy fucking shit. Was it too soon to ask to suck dick on their second encounter? Tie Adrian up and call him a present because _damn_.

"Five yards of the natural filament," he said. A brief image of Adrian tied up and thrown into Mr. Phantomhive's car flashed through the male's mind. Either that or he was tied up to a bed somewhere. Adrian can't decide which was better or which was worse. Either one could be entertaining. Seriously though, was it too soon to ask to suck dick? Adrian needed to know...for, uh, _science_.

Adrian walked with a quick pace to the rope section. He had to cut the rope. He had to measure and cut the rope. It's a miracle he didn't cut off his own hands. Adrian coiled it neatly, handing it to Mr. Phantomhive, hands shaking like a little bitch. Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck him, _please?_

"Are you afraid of knives, Mister Crevan?" Huh? Why? Oh. Because of the shaking. Adrian wanted to die. Dick sucking, being tied to a bed, a number of other thoughts he couldn't very well explain to Mr. Phantomhive...how should he explain the shaking?

"Pointy objects aren't really my thing, Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian went along with it, gesturing to the scar on his face. It was caused by a sharp and pointy object. Maybe Mr. Phantomhive would take the bait. It's not entirely a lie. Adrian did avoid such things. 

"What _is_ your thing, Adrian?" The simple change from 'Mister Crevan' to his first name was enough for Adrian nearly fall over. He tried to remain calm. His knees weren't wobbling. Neither were his arms. Just ignore it, Adrian, just ignore it. 

_You are my thing, Mr. Phantomhive._ "Books," Adrian replied. It took him a hot minute to think of something. "I like classic literature," he added, for good measure. Mr. Phantomhive placed his hand on his chin. He was either contemplating the answer as if it were a riddle or he was trying to hide his boredom. Perhaps a bit of both. 

"Is there anything else you need?" Adrian changed the subject. 

"What would you recommend?" 

Well, first of all, what the fuck are you even going to do with those objects? Are you redecorating? Mr. Phantomhive, you aren't giving Adrian a lot to work with. "Overalls?" Mr. Phantomhive doesn't respond to this. He simply raised an eyebrow, just a tad, not too obvious of a raise. 

"You wouldn't want to ruin your clothing," Adrian gestured vaguely in the direction of Mr. Phantomhive's pants. "If you're doing housework or something." 

"I could always take them off," he smirked. He _smirked_. He was smirking at the line 'I could always take them off.' and Adrian was just about to lose it. "Heaven forbid I ruin my clothing. Dear me, a fairly wealthy man, at risk of damaging pants. I could never afford to buy another pair," Mr. Phantomhive's sarcasm oozed out of his very existence. He placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, shaking his head. Thank the gods he was being an asshole. Adrian couldn't imagine Mr. Phantomhive without pants while on the job. It was too much for his soul. Dick sucking, rope tying, maybe, but Mr. Phantomhive without pants? No. That's where he drew the line. 

"Do you need help with anything else or can I stop making a fool of myself now?" Adrian let out a long sigh. Mr. Phantomhive didn't need help to begin with. He could've paid someone to get this shit for him. Maybe his hobby was tormenting the poor by flaunting his wealth? Could be a nice hobby. Although, he wasn't flaunting very much. Adrian eyed him up and down. The guy was wearing jeans. Used jeans. Like jeans you could buy from a thrift store. And he was wearing a flannel. Why the fuck was Mr. Phantomhive wearing a _flannel_? Gay vibes were strong with this one. Er, bisexual vibes? Shoutout to the bisexuals that wear flannels. Shoutout to people that wear flannels. Period. Adrian didn't wear flannels. 

"How is the article coming along?" 

"Grell, uh, Miss Sutcliff is writing it. I have nothing to do with that article," Adrian waved his hand dismissively. "She was devastated that she couldn't do the interview in person and that we don't have original photographs of you."

"Oh?" he smiled. He looked pleased about something. Adrian wasn't sure what. But, he was pleased about _something_. "What sort of photographs does she want?" Adrian doesn't answer. Adrian doesn't know. Adrian also has no idea how to respond to this. He wasn't expecting it. No. Adrian. Stop thinking about nudes. That's obviously _not_ what Mr. Phantomhive meant. 

"I'm in the neighborhood for a while, you see, it would be possible to arrange a photoshoot," Mr. Phantomhive explained. His hand returned to his chin as he pondered the idea. "Is tomorrow too soon? The sooner the better, but we can arrange it at any time."

"Grell would be delighted," Adrian paused, " _if_ we can find a photographer..." 

"Ah, it's a shame you don't know any rather rich people willing to fund the whole thing," Mr. Phantomhive shook his head, a disappointed sigh leaving him, "because, after all, why would a rich guy have any reason to fund a photoshoot for a small-town university newspaper?"

"Are you insulting or offering?" Adrian frowned, unsure of how to respond to that. 

"I offered to participate in a photoshoot. Why would I not offer to provide the means for that photoshoot? What sort of man do you take me for, Mister Crevan?" Ah, back to the formality. Mr. Phantomhive reached into his back pocket and pulled out a business card. He handed it over to Adrian. "Call me about tomorrow, this has my cell number on it. Please call before ten in the morning." 

Adrian grabbed it, staring at it, wondering if it actually existed. Grell is going to be thrilled. Grell might actually kiss him for this. Wait. Why did Mr. Phantomhive just _have_ this on him? Was he always intending to give it to Adrian? Or, did he just carry them around for no reason in particular? Mr. Phantomhive didn't seem like the type to offer his personal cellphone number willingly...

"Adrian!" a voice called. Adrian turned to face it. Ah. Ronald was back in town. How nice? Adrian wasn't 100% sure about this. "It's so good to see you," Ronald wrapped his arms around Adrian, hugging him tightly. Adrian glanced in Mr. Phantomhive's direction. He sensed displeasure. Certainly not jealousy or anger. Just displeasure. 

Feeling the need to explain this situation, Adrian spoke, "Mr. Phantomhive, this is Ronald Knox. He is a friend of mine and the son of the person that owns this store." 

"Wait a minute," Ronald released his grasp on Adrian and squinted at Mr. Phantomhive. "Like, _the_ Mr. Phantomhive? Like, Vincent Phantomhive of The Funtom Company?" He stood in a more proper position. He smiled politely. "Cool, well, catch you later, Adrian," he waved and left. Adrian breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't ready for that type of energy right now. 

"Until tomorrow, perhaps," Mr. Phantomhive turned and left as well. He looked...agitated...in a very agitated way. Did Adrian offend him? Shit. Hopefully it was just Ronald. Ronald was a bitch sometimes. 

"I hope he doesn't hate me," Adrian grabbed his fringe and started playing with it. That's what he did to calm down. And, he has a lot to calm down about. First of all, he had to admit to himself that he liked Mr. Phantomhive. That's step one of the equation. Step two was talking to Grell about the photoshoot. Step one was going to be much more difficult than step two. Step two was just going to take a lot of energy. Ugh. Energy. Energy that Adrian didn't have


	3. Chapter Three

"Holy shit!" Grell wrapped her arms around Adrian. "Holy shit! Holy shit!" Needless to say, she was ecstatic about this development. "But, why was he in a hardware store?" 

"He was in the area," Adrian replied, shrugging. 

"That's one huge coincidence, Dri. Don't you think he was there to see you?" Grell suggested. Adrian laughed. He couldn't do anything but laugh. His heartbeat increased. His face became a new shade of red. He laughed. 

"Don't be ridiculous. Why would he be there to see _me_?" Adrian dismissed the idea. "In any case, who is going to take the pictures and where are they going to be taken? He is staying in the area...so there is that...but there is still the problem of who is going to take them." 

"Where is he staying?" 

"I don't know. But, we can ask him," Adrian offered. "I have his phone number." Grell took a step back. Grell took a couple of steps back and slammed her head against the wall. 

"You're fucking kidding me. Right? You're joking." Grell stared at Adrian, blood trickling down her face. "You have the phone number of the richest bachelor in the universe and you think he didn't walk into a warehouse just to see you? Bitch, get real." 

"He was just trying to be nice," Adrian didn't believe the words as he said them. There was nothing about Vincent Phantomhive that screamed _nice_. "Who should we get to take the pictures? Sascha? They're still in town, right?" 

"I think you should call." 

"Who? Sascha? They're usually pretty agreeable though," Adrian frowned, confused. 

"No, Phantomhive." 

"I'm terrible over the phone. Grell, I'm going to make a fool of myself. I can't do that over the phone. He knows enough about my terribly foolish self in person. You call him." Adrian wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and die. He wasn't going to call Mr. Phantomhive. 

"You're the one with the relationship. I haven't met the guy. I can't call him. He gave _you_ his number. I have to call Sascha." Grell had sound logic, as usual, but Adrian still had no interest in calling Mr. Phantomhive. He got out his phone, reluctantly, and stared at the card that's now in his hand. He dialed the number and hit the fancy button of doom. 

"Phantomhive." His voice was even sexier over the phone. How was that legal? Adrian needed to know the science behind Mr. Phantomhive's existence. 

"Uh...Mr. Phantomhive? It's Adrian Crevan." There was a pause. Not a long pause. Just a pause. Long enough to make Adrian sit on the floor. He can't stand. His legs were shaking too much. 

"Mister Crevan. How nice to hear from you." He sounded warm. His voice wasn't as stern as it was when he first answered. He seems a bit... _surprised_? Also, slightly seductive. 

"We decided we're going ahead with the photo shoot. Uh, where and when is most convenient for you?" Adrian wanted to die. He wanted nothing more than to die. This sounded like he was trying to hook up with the hottest guy in the world. It wasn't like that. This was for the newspaper article. 

"I'm staying at The Manor. It's a hotel not far from where you work. Is nine-thirty tomorrow morning good for you?"

"Mhmm..." Adrian's face was absolutely steaming. 

"I look forward to it, Mister Crevan," he said and hung up. Grell was smirking at Adrian. Adrian hated it. 

"You like him," Grell snickered. "You've never acted like that around anyone before. Not even the darling Ronald that keeps asking you out every chance he can get." It's true. Adrian was a raging homosexual but he never really got serious about anyone. He just sort of admired from afar. He was calm and collected, normally, but around Mr. Phantomhive that persona he'd built up for the past few years crumbled beneath his feet. Mr. Phantomhive had a talent. 

...

First thing in the morning, Grell dragged Adrian out of bed before he could properly get dressed. Back to shitty ponytails. He groaned, trying to set up some camera in some room in the tallest corner of The Manor. This place was strange, not gonna lie. Mr. Phantomhive really had a thing for flexing in tall buildings. He got the largest suite, top floor, for no reason at all except to be the richest little shit in existence. Which, in all honesty, he was...a nice looking piece of shit too. 

It's nine thirty. Vincent Phantomhive was on time. He walked through the door at _exactly_ nine thirty. Adrian wasn't counting but he knew. He just knew. The man stood in a halfhearted suit. Halfhearted because it had all the qualities of a suit without being an actual suit. The pants, the shirt, but no suit jacket and no tie. Mr. Phantomhive's buttons weren't all the way buttoned. He was fully open at the collar, revealing some nice clavicle for Adrian to gush over. Clavicles are made to be bitten. That's his motto. 

"Mister Crevan, we meet again," Mr. Phantomhive outstretched his hand. Adrian stared at it, confused by it, waiting too long before actually grabbing it. Mr. Phantomhive was stronger than he looked. Adrian's hand could break in this grip. What else could break in his grip? Adrian pushed the thought to the side. 

"M-Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian gestured to Sascha and Grell with his free hand. "This is Grell Sutcliff and Sascha. The reporter and the photographer." How long was Mr. Phantomhive going to hold his hand like this? 

Mr. Phantomhive relinquished his grasp and turned his attention to Sascha. "Where do you want me?" he asked. Adrian blushed at the thought. _Where do you want me, Mister Crevan?_ He could just imagine Mr. Phantomhive saying something like that. Get your head out of the gutter. Get it out. Get it out. 

Adrian was too preoccupied with seeing Mr. Phantomhive in different poses to pay attention to the fact that he stared at him the whole time. Adrian's only saving grace was his monstrosity of hair covering his eyes. Even though his eyes were covered, there was no doubt in his mind that Mr. Phantomhive felt his gaze. Why? Because the male stared at him the entire time too. It looked like he was staring at the camera. Adrian knew better. Adrian _knew_ when people were staring at him. He had a knack for such things. 

He blinked and everyone was gone. He was standing right before Mr. Phantomhive without any recollection of what had just taken place. "Mister Crevan," the silky voice was not imagined. "Would you care to join me for coffee?" the smile was not imagined either. Finally, a complete expression, eyes included. How could Adrian say no to that?

"Where did Grell and Sascha go?" 

"To answer my question with a question, how rude," Mr. Phantomhive laughed with his eyes. "Where were you? I wonder, when Miss Sutcliff said she was heading out? That was around ten minutes ago." There was no way in hell Adrian could confess to having been daydreaming about Mr. Phantomhive. Thankfully, he wouldn't have to. 

"Would you care to join me for coffee?" Mr. Phantomhive repeated his question. 

"Okay?" Adrian agreed. He was quite lost on the whole situation but blindly followed Mr. Phantomhive to the elevator. What was it about elevators? There was a couple blushing behind them. They giggled, whispering to each other and Adrian couldn't be more annoyed. How nice, it must be, to flaunt your relationship like that. It was all he could do to stand this close to Mr. Phantomhive. He was close, physically, about half a foot apart from him, but emotionally? There was a cavern between them. 

The door to the elevator opened. Mr. Phantomhive, much to Adrian's surprise, grabbed his hand and walked right out. Blindly following, with fringe in his face, it wasn't as if he could see anything anyway, Adrian followed him for a couple of blocks. There was a coffee shop. Adrian had always wanted to go here. He blew some air at his fringe, forcing it out of one of his eyes. He squinted at the sign, unable to read, but he could tell this was the place he'd always wanted to go. 

"Why don't you find us a seat?" Mr. Phantomhive suggested, it's more like an order. "What would you like?"

"Cappuccino?" Adrian had no idea what he wanted. He kept thinking about Mr. Phantomhive sitting in a cup of coffee. Little Mini Phantomhive, with sugar being poured on his head. Would he blush? Adrian imagined so. Mr. Phantomhive with a blush would be a sight to see. 

Adrian watched as Mr. Phantomhive carefully wandered to the counter. He had a polite grin for a polite occasion. He didn't look like he belonged here. But, he also looked as if he was the only one that belonged here. He was the only one in this room that could afford such expensive coffee to the fullest. And yet, he didn't get coffee. He got a cup of tea. The teabag was out. No sugar. No honey. Just a cup of hot water waiting to be destroyed. 

"No coffee?"

"I don't particularly enjoy the taste of coffee," Mr. Phantomhive sat down. He slid the cappuccino over. There was a little heart in the milk foam. How cute. How did they do these anyway? It's the best part about them. 

"Why ask to get coffee if you don't even like coffee?" Adrian frowned, blowing the heart away before taking a sip. It was hot. Very hot. Too hot. But, he drank it anyway. Mr. Phantomhive stared at his own cup. Earl Grey, it smelled like, the perfect tea to match the perfect man. No doubt, in another lifetime, this man was an earl. He picked up the teabag string, moving it in a full circle clockwise, then counterclockwise, before waiting a minute or two and taking a sip. 

"You seemed like the type of person to enjoy coffee," Mr. Phantomhive placed the cup back in the saucer. 

"I do like my coffee, black and lightly roasted," Adrian took a sip. He wasn't a coffee snob. If it's coffee, it's coffee, and it has caffeine. Everything was fine, from the most American of coffee beverages to the most exotic. 

"I see," Mr. Phantomhive smiled. Why did he look so proud to have found that out? It wasn't a secret to anyone that Adrian liked coffee. "Was that your significant other?" A drastic change in conversation topic. 

"Who? What?" Adrian tried his best to keep from spilling the cappuccino all over his clothes. 

"The photographer. Are you two involved?"

"Sascha?" Adrian shook his head. "No, we're close friends. Sascha is cute and all but they're more like a sibling to me." 

"What about that individual at your work? Is he your boyfriend?" Why is Mr. Phantomhive so interested in Adrian's personal life? For a guy that loves privacy, he sure enjoyed prying. 

"Ronald? No, definitely not. Why do you ask?" 

"You seem nervous around men. You asked me if I was gay. I'm simply curious to know more about you, Mister Crevan, is that a crime? Feel free to refuse to answer any or all of my questions," Mr. Phantomhive sipped his tea. "You're a mystery, Mister Crevan, and I can't help but want to uncover the answers."

Mystery? That's impossible. Adrian was an open book. "Are you sure about that?" 

"Quite sure, you're very self-contained," Mr. Phantomhive said. "Except when you blush, of course," cue Adrian's blush, "I wish I knew what you were blushing about, Adrian." He did it again. The sudden change in name-calling needed to stop. Pick one or the other. Adrian needed to guard himself somehow. Speaking of which, Mr. Phantomhive never asked to be called by his first name. Why was that? 

"Do you not like your first name, Mr. Phantomhive?" 

"People close to me and my family members have the privilege to call me by my first name." Privilege? This asshole. Mr. Phantomhive took his hand and placed it on Adrian's cheek. He moved the hair out of Adrian's face. His eyes were dark as ever, danger lurking within, and with a subtle smirk, he asked, "Do you want to be close to me, Mister Crevan? Do you want to earn the privilege?" Adrian was reminded of the rope. He wasn't sure why. But for some reason, he was reminded of the rope Mr. Phantomhive bought. Adrian's hands were tied, figuratively, and as much as he would love to scream 'yes' at the top of his lungs, his breathing staggered and he was unable to say a word. 

"Shall I walk you back?" Mr. Phantomhive stood up. Adrian blinked. Was it his imagination? Did that not happen? He followed blindly, a talent of his, and couldn't help but wonder about the conversation. Could that even be considered a conversation? 

"Do you have a girlfriend, er, a boyfriend, uh, a human?" Adrian can't help himself. He had to know. 

"No, I don't do the relationship thing," Mr. Phantomhive said. Oh. Right. He was the richest man in the universe. Why would he? People must always be pleading at his feet for a taste of his money. There can't be anyone that he trusted. That put Adrian in a bit of a situation. Dreams will only be dreams. He took a step forward, only to fall. This wasn't like falling into Mr. Phantomhive's office. This was falling right into an intersection like a dumb bitch and being unable to catch himself. 

"Fuck," Mr. Phantomhive muttered. He reached out his hand and grabbed Adrian's. With a pull, a strong tug, Adrian was saved only to wind up in the arms of Mr. Phantomhive. Legs unsteady. Face incredibly close. It's similar to those dance moves where the individual dipped the other and then they kiss. Adrian tried not to stare at Mr. Phantomhive's lips. They're so close. He can't help it. It's the first time Adrian wanted to be kissed. He had never wanted to be kissed before. Not by any man. Mr. Phantomhive was a bundle of firsts for him. He can feel his heartbeat by his ears. Adrian knows his face is red. He felt it burning. He wanted to feel that mouth on his. 

_Kiss me, damnit!_ Adrian pleaded. He can't move. Mr. Phantomhive was captivating him. For a second, just a slight moment, Adrian wondered if Mr. Phantomhive was leaning in to kiss him. Their faces did seem a bit closer together. It was his imagination. Mr. Phantomhive only spoke. "Adrian, I am not the man for you," he looked sad to say this, but perhaps Adrian imagined that. "Breathe, Adrian, breathe, I'm going to let you go now," he promised. He stood Adrian upright, released his grasp on him, his hands lingered on Adrian just a moment too long, and Adrian was left to stand there, alone. Not another word. Not another gesture. He left. _I'm going to let you go now_. Why? What did Adrian do? Was it because of his hair? Did Mr. Phantomhive actually have a thing for brunettes? 


	4. Chapter Four

Adrian sat curled up on the couch surrounded in blankets. He held a cup of coffee in his hands. He stared at it. It made him cry more. He can't drink coffee without thinking about Mr. Phantomhive and how he was rejected by him. Prince Charming refused him. 

"Dri, what's wrong?" Grell sat on the couch, cuddling up to Adrian, and gave him a big hug. "Tell me what's wrong? You've been like this for hours. Your coffee is cold and you hate that." 

"I nearly got run over by a couple of cars. I'm fine, Mr. Phantomhive saved me, but I'm shaken and sad and rejected. I like him, Grell, I do, and I hate that I do because I'm never going to be good enough for the richest man in the universe," Adrian sobbed. Tears never stopped coming. "I'm too ugly to stand next to that Greek god." 

"Now that's just bullshit. You're the cutest," Grell frowned. "But," she sighed, "no matter how many times I tell you that you won't understand. This was this for you, waiting at the door, I'm guessing it's from that guy you think hates you so much." 

Adrian grabbed the package. He placed his cold coffee on the table next to him and opened it. Inside it was a note. Nice handwriting. It looked like a font. 

_All human beings, as we meet them, are commingled out of good and evil: and Edward Hyde, alone, in the ranks of mankind, was pure evil._

The item itself was a nice copy of _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. This quote didn't make much sense. Was it a warning? Was Mr. Phantomhive actually pure evil? Surely a man that rich and famous for his kind heart wasn't a villain. All articles said the same thing about him. Perhaps that was a part of the facade. The more Adrian thought about it the more he just wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about Mr. Phantomhive. He couldn't stay away. 

"What does it mean?" Grell stared at the note.

"He is trying to warn me about something, I think, he said he was letting me go. Why? I'm not clinging onto him that hard. Why is he trying so hard to keep me away?" Adrian sighed. Nothing made sense. When exams were over the very first thing he would do was get drunk and forget about Mr. Phantomhive. 

...

Adrian was wasted. Actually, to say he was wasted was an understatement. He was currently sitting in a stall squinting at signs warning him to have safe sex. Safe sex with who? His own dick? That's never gonna happen. No one on this planet would be attracted to a silver-haired scarred green-eyed wonder. At least, not the richest person on the planet anyway. Was he even the richest? Adrian had never looked it up. He just assumed. 

This male was a terrible drunk. The worst of the worst. He complained and he spoke without a filter. Apparently, he drunk called people too. He scrolled through his phone, about to give the richest guy in the universe a talking to, but he didn't. Or, he thought he didn't, but before he knew it the phone was ringing in his ear and the sweet sound of sexy said the usual "Phantomhive." as a response. 

"Why did you send me a book with a quote you cryptic asshole," Adrian grumbled. 

"Adrian? Are you okay? You don't sound like yourself." 

"I don't sound like myself? You don't sound like yourself. Actually, nevermind, you sound completely normal with your sexy ass voice. Who gave you the goddamn right to sound so sexy? That's illegal," Adrian's head lulled to the side as he snickered. There was no restraint. 

"Are you drunk? Where are you?" 

"At a bar, obviously, dumbass," Adrian sighed. "Tell me why you sent the book." 

"Where are you?" 

Adrian hung up. That wasn't going anywhere. He'd thought about asking Mr. Phantomhive for the past few days and he did it while drunk. That was a mistake. Adrian stumbled out of the stall and back to the booth where Grell was sitting. He plopped down next to her and shoved his head on her shoulder. " _Gwellllll_ ," he sighed. 

"Yes, sweetie?" Grell rolled her eyes and pet Adrian's head. 

"I think I made a bwig mistake," he confessed. 

"Did you fuck someone in the bathroom? That would be a miserable first time. Don't do that, okay?" Grell continued to pet Adrian. 

"Adrian, are you okay?" Sascha leaned over the table and got way too close for comfort. They look like they're going to kiss him. 

"I'm fine, probably," Adrian squinted. He looked around at the lights. All blurry. Adrian's head was moving a mile a minute. He wanted to pass out. "I'ma get sum fresh aire," Adrian nodded. He stood up, not-so-gracefully, and wandered outside. He stared at the street. It was so quiet out here. Time to get raped in an alleyway. He leaned up against the wall, right next to the trash can, his home planet, and barfed all of his insides. Nothing left in his stomach. Nothing at all. 

"You look fucking awful." Ronald. Ugh. Adrian didn't want to deal with that at the moment. 

"I feel fucking awful," Adrian sighed. He stood up straight. Big mistake. Time to heave again. 

"Why don't you let me take you home?" Ronald suggested. No. Big no-no. This guy has been trying for a long time to get into Adrian's pants. That would be the Ultimate Mistake. Adrian would let him too, because of the fact Mr. Phantomhive, the ideal dream man, totally rejected him. 

"No," Adrian sighed. He grabbed a brick to steady himself on the wall. "Totally not happening," he frowned. Ronald wasn't going to back down just yet. He grabbed Adrian's wrist, a bit too hard, and dragged him a few feet. Adrian resisted. What the fuck? Ronald stop being such a dick. 

"You have to go home," he ordered. What gives you the right to order Adrian around like that? Adrian frowned. 

"That's not for you to decide, Ronald," he growled. He wasn't quite strong enough (especially not while drunk) to resist. 

"You're too drunk," Ronald dragged Adrian further. 

"Pardon me if I'm wrong but I believe Mister Crevan declined your offer," Mr. Phantomhive's hand grabbed Ronald's wrist. He stared up at the guy with such a fierce gaze Adrian thought for sure his legs would give out. He wasn't the one being stared at but he still felt like jelly. 

"Who the fuck are you to get yourself involved in this conversation?" Ronald snapped. Mr. Phantomhive snapped too. His gaze filled with a rage Adrian would never be able to fathom. He kicked Ronald behind the knee, making him fall. Mr. Phantomhive continued to hold his wrist tightly in his hand until he released his grip on Adrian. He continued to hold it. He leaned down just a tad, holding Ronald's chin in his free hand. 

"I am the richest man you'll ever to meet in the entirety of your lifetime. I can do as I wish when I wish. If I see someone dragging a drunk man home without permission I am certainly able to interfere should I wish it. I could have your entire business burning to the ground with the snap of my fingers, Ronald Knox, so, tell me again, who am I to get involved in this conversation?" Mr. Phantomhive traced his thumb over Ronald's lower lip. 

"You're just a stranger to him," Ronald spat. Did he not fear for his life? Not even a bit?

Mr. Phantomhive leaned down, to whisper into Ronald's ear, a phrase so true and despicable Ronald had no choice but to admit it was right, "Aren't you also a stranger to Mister Crevan, Ronald Knox?" Ronald didn't have it in him to feel anger anymore. Just fear. He was acquaintances with Adrian at best. Both Mr. Phantomhive and Ronald were acquaintances with Adrian, at best. 

He released his grasp. He stood up straight. Ronald scrambled to his feet and rushed back into the bar. "I'm sorry," Adrian apologized. He was apologizing for himself and for Ronald. For this whole situation. 

"Why are you apologizing, Adrain?" 

"The phone call, Ronald, my sorry excuse of an existence," Adrian ran his hand through his hair. It was disgusting. Pieces of his insides were strung along it. He looked like a mess, not even an attractive mess, just a drunk one. 

"There is nothing to apologize for," Mr. Phantomhive held out a handkerchief. With the initials 'VSP' Adrian mistook it for 'VIP' and thought that was actually quite better. Only Mr. Phantomhive would have such a thing on his person. Adrian almost refrained from using it to wipe his mouth and hair. But, he did anyway. "Do you make a habit of this kind of behavior?" he asked. Adrian shook his head. 

"I've never been this drunk and I never want to be again," he frowned. Shaking his head made his whole existence shake. He wanted to faint. He wanted to fall right into Mr. Phantomhive's arms and wither away. In fact, he did fall right into his arms. He couldn't stop himself. 

"Come now, I'll take you home," Mr. Phantomhive offered. Adrian nodded. Mr. Phantomhive smelled nice. There was no way to say for certain if Mr. Phantomhive would behave like Ronald or not. Adrian didn't care at this point. 

"Ah, wait, what about Grell? I have to tell her," Adrian tried to stand up on his own. He couldn't. Mr. Phantomhive's arms were too inviting. 

"No need to worry, my brother is with her. He will explain the situation. He is quite good like that," Mr. Phantomhive assured. "Now, then, let's be on our way," Mr. Phantomhive picked up Adrian and carried him the duration of the way. Adrian nodded off in his arms. This was all a dream. It had to be. Mr. Phantomhive would never go out of his way to help a nobody like Adrian. Never. 


	5. Chapter Five

It's very quiet. Almost too quiet. Adrian opened his eyes. This was not his apartment. There was a glass of orange juice on the nightstand. Two pills. Likely pain medication. Where was he? He looked around. This place seemed expensive. Some places just have that atmosphere. It wasn't that the sheets were made of a poor man's tears...more like this room was ten sizes too big for a normal room. Was this The Manor? Small memories found their way back into Adrian's mind. Mr. Phantomhive took him back _here_? 

There was a knock on the door and Mr. Phantomhive walked in. He stared at Adrian. Adrian stared at him. His hair was sweaty. He ran a hand through it to keep his fringe out of his face. Are those _sweatpants_? Is that a _t-shirt_? Mr. Phantomhive in casual clothing didn't make any sense but it's a real treat on the eyes. The shirt clinging to him in ways unheard of due to the sweat. Adrian drooled. He can't help it. Those sweatpants were barely on his hips. Iliac furrow. Iliac furrow. _Illiac furrow._ Adrian stared at them. If they would just fall, just a bit, he could get a nice glance at his...fucking fall damn you. 

Adrian closed his eyes. He had to not. Stop thinking about terrible things. "How are you feeling?" Mr. Phantomhive asked. 

"Better than I thought I would," Adrian sighed. "How did I get here?" Adrian snapped his eyes open and stared at Mr. Phantomhive. Big mistake. His shock brought him back to reality but Mr. Phantomhive was sending him back to hell, or heaven, whichever worked. 

"You passed out. I brought you here. I would've taken you all the way to your apartment except for the simple fact that it was late, I was tired, and you might've ruined my new leather by splurging your insides all over my car." 

"Did you bathe me?" Adrian grabbed a piece of his hair and smelled it. It smelled too nice to be the result of a drunk man. 

"Nothing so drastic," Mr. Phantomhive smiled. "I did wash your hair and change your clothes, however." 

"Did we...?" Adrian couldn't finish the question. He was too afraid of the answer. 

"I pride myself in being a gentleman, Adrian," Mr. Phantomhive sighed. "Necrophilia is not my thing. I enjoy sentient and receptive individuals." Sentient and receptive? Adrian once again was reminded of the rope Mr. Phantomhive bought. He was also reminded of the way Mr. Phantomhive threatened Ronald. On his knees. He was on his _knees_. Adrian, stop it, stop thinking about being tied up on your knees in front of Mr. Phantomhive. You naughty boy. 

"Gentleman? Is that why you acted like a knight in shining armor to come save me from the depths of the bar? Uninvited?" Adrian frowned. It didn't matter what label Mr. Phantomhive put on it. In the end, he did exactly the same thing as Ronald. That didn't make him special. 

"I'm no knight. If anything, I am a dark knight. I'm a man just like any other man, Adrian, but I am a man with control. I pride myself in it. I can recognize control and people that lack in control. Your friend, if you wish to call him that, had a severe lack in control, Adrian. Now, have you eaten?" 

"No." 

"You went drinking without anything in your stomach? Tsk, tsk," Mr. Phantomhive shook his head. "That's the first rule to drinking. We shall remedy this." 

"How long are you going to scold me?" Adrian frowned, sinking into the bed. 

"You're lucky that is _all_ I'm doing." What? _What_? Adrian. Don't take that in a dirty way. Don't take that in a dirty way. Brain. Please. Stop. He didn't mean it like that. What did he mean then? "If you were mine you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after that stunt you pulled. You put yourself at risk. I shudder at the thought of what might've happened to you." Adrian wanted to hear the rest of what Mr. Phantomhive said. He did. With all of his heart. But his brain died the moment he heard the phrase 'if you were mine' and he lost all ability to exist as a human being. 

"I'm going to take a shower unless you'd like to take one first," Mr. Phantomhive gestured to the bathroom. Adrian was dead. He didn't have the ability to answer that. He poked his nose out of the blanket he'd hidden under to glance at Mr. Phantomhive stripping before entering the bathroom. That glorious body. This was the most he was going to get out of it. Just a gander from afar. Where did Mr. Phantomhive sleep last night? Did they share the bed? And Mr. Phantomhive didn't make a move? Well, perhaps Mr. Phantomhive just wasn't as interested in him. He did reject him once before...

 _If you were mine_. That implied there was _some_ interest in Adrian, no? He shook his head. No. Mr. Phantomhive can't possibly be interested in him. He was the only person that hadn't tried to flirt... Wait. Tried to flirt? He had said some pretty scandalous things. Was that him flirting? Adrian pondered the idea. He pondered too long. Mr. Phantomhive came out of the bathroom in the standard towel hung loosely around his waist. Fuck. Adrian had never wanted to see a naked man on top of him so badly in his life. Sure, he has had fleeting romantic ideas, but this was desire. Pure and simple. He wanted Mr. Phantomhive's steamy out-of-the shower dick. No doubt about it. He wanted to lick the water right off of that muscular abdomen. No doubt about that either. 

Adrian sat up. He grabbed the pills. He drank all of the orange juice in the glass to quench his unhealthy desire for Mr. Phantomhive's dick. That wasn't on the menu for breakfast. It would never be on the menu. "I think I'm going to take a shower," Adrian announced, hopping off of the bed and brushing past Mr. Phantomhive. Fuck. He nearly touched shoulders. 

He closed the door. He stared at himself in the mirror for a hot minute. Damn. This look didn't suit him. Adrian frowned. "He is absolutely everything," Adrian sighed. Mr. Phantomhive was a god among mankind. Time to strip. Time to get wet. Time to cleanse himself of all dirty thoughts. Adrian took a shower. He cleaned himself thoroughly with the soap Mr. Phantomhive had just used. He imagined that it was the man himself touching him. Ah. Yes. Mr. Phantomhive's nice hands. Long fingers. Perfect for reaching every crevice of Adrian's body. 

What the fuck? Adrian, you're supposed to be _cleansing_ your horny thoughts with the soap not getting hornier. The door opened. Shit! Adrian flung the soap so far away from him it bounced off of the wall and right into his face. _Smack_. "Fuck!" Adrian groaned. It sounded like a moan. He didn't moan. Oh shit. Please, Mr. Phantomhive, ignore that. He didn't moan. It was a _groan_. Of pain. Not pleasure. Maybe both? Mr. Phantomhive stop being so silent. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck. 

"Are you quite alright?" Mr. Phantomhive asked. Good. Good. He knows it was out of pain. 

"Yeah, yes, you startled me. I thought I locked the door. I dropped the soap. It hit the wall. It slammed me in the face. Nothing to worry about," Adrian said, blood dripping from his nose. 

"I apologize for startling you. I only opened the door to give you this bag of clothes. I'll place it right by the sink. Don't mind me," Mr. Phantomhive said, the door closed. 'Don't mind me'? How was he supposed to do that? 

"Shit, he thinks I'm jacking off now doesn't he?" Adrian hid his face in his hands. He couldn't continue this shower. The soap was ruined for him. The idea of showering was ruined for him. His dirty thoughts were not cleansed by the water. He shut it off and grabbed a towel. He looked in the bag. Hm. This was _exactly_ the kind of thing Adrian would wear. Jeans. T-shirt. Mr. Phantomhive was observant. These were...new? These were new clothes. Never trust a man that gave you new clothes the morning after. That's what Adrian's mother would've said. 

"I don't have any other clothes," Adrian sighed. He would just have to deal with it. Time to get dressed and face the music. His hair would just have to stay wet. 

Mr. Phantomhive waited at a table filled with food. He was drinking tea quietly. Button-up. Jeans. Mr. Phantomhive in casual clothes struck again. Clavicles. Adrian nods. Good view. "Sit," Mr. Phantomhive ordered. It was a command. Adrian sat. "In the chair, preferably, but if you'd like to eat on the floor like a dog, please, don't let me stop you." Dumbass Adrian struck again. He stood up and sat in the chair across from Mr. Phantomhive. Fuck him. He was (and always will be) an idiot. 

"Your hair is very damp," Mr. Phantomhive observed. His mouth pressed into a firm line. Was he mad about that? "Very fucking damp," he muttered. Adrian could barely hear the words but he guessed as to what Mr. Phantomhive said.

"Thanks for the clothes," Adrian changed the subject. 

"Think nothing of it," Mr. Phantomhive took a sip of his tea. 

"And the book, I guess, although I'm not sure why you sent that." 

"It's an apology and a warning. No one is as they seem, Adrian. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear of me," he closed his eyes as if defeated. "I'm finding it impossible to stay away from you, however. There is something about you. I don't know what it is, but there is _something_ ," Mr. Phantomhive opened his eyes again. He stared into the teacup. Would he find his answer? 

"Hm, then don't," Adrian placed a finger on his lower lip. He tilted his head and smiled. 

"You don't know what you're saying," Mr. Phantomhive placed his teacup back on the saucer. 

"Enlighten me," Adrian smirked. His confidence was nonexistent but sometimes, on certain occasions, he can be the sexy beast people like Ronald tend to think of him as. The two sat in complete silence staring at one another. Neither one touching the food on the table. 

After some time, Mr. Phantomhive opened his mouth to speak, "What are your plans for the next few days?" 

Adrian snapped back to reality. Uh. Well. He graduated so... "I'm going to work like a dog and pack up to move. I think Grell said something about our new apartment being around where you are in the city. Something like that. I can't remember. She is starting an internship and I'm going with her because I have nowhere else to go. I still have to apply for some internships." 

"Have you applied to my company?" Absolutely not. Never in Adrian's life would he think to do that. 

"No." 

"Why? What's wrong with my company?"

"Your company or your _company_?" Adrian smirked. 

"Are you smirking at me, Mister Crevan?" he tilted his head to one side. Adrian looked down at his blank plate. No. He didn't. Confidence gone. He was back to being a blushing mess of an idiot. Fuck. Why did he do that? 

"I'd like to bite that lip," Mr. Phantomhive said. Adrian glanced up at him. His heartbeat spiked. He was a quivering mess, the best quivering mess anyone would ever see, and all because of Mr. Phantomhive's dark gaze. Adrian had no idea that he was biting his own lip. It was a habit of his. He was made known of it by Mr. Phantomhive's comment. He stopped. He stopped biting. 

"I wish you would," Adrian confessed. It was an unintentional confession. His mouth went with the flow of the room. Mr. Phantomhive's magical flow. 

"I'm not going to touch you," Mr. Phantomhive grabbed a muffin from the varying dishes on the table. He stared at it. Focused on it. Tore it apart with his long fingers into small pieces. He picked one up, placed it in his mouth, and chewed. Adrian watched. For some reason, he couldn't stop watching. "Not until I have your written consent to do so," Mr. Phantomhive stabbed one piece of his disembodied muffin with a knife, not a fork, and dangled it in front of his face, stretching out his tongue to grab it. Adrian couldn't stop staring. 

"What does that mean?" Adrian asked. Mr. Phantomhive stabbed another piece of his muffin. He'd given up on picking up the pieces it seemed. 

"I'll have to show you," he smirked. "Pick a time, Adrian." 

"Are you smirking at me, Mr. Phantomhive?" Adrian asked sweetly. Served him right. Mr. Phantomhive blinked in response. "Tonight, then," Adrian grabbed his own muffin. He removed the wrapping with his teeth alone and licked along the side of it. "I'll look forward to it, Mr. Phantomhive," he said, before taking a bite. Crumbs fell on his face. He licked them too. 

"I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I wouldn't want you to catch a cold." Mr. Phantomhive stabbed all remaining pieces of his muffin and ate them in one go. He grabbed a second one. He mutilated it too. He glared at it, full force, with the same terrifying expression he'd given Ronald. What did the muffins ever do to him? 

"Where did you sleep last night?" Adrian asked. He didn't see any cushions or blankets out here. Maybe Mr. Phantomhive got himself another room altogether. Or, maybe he really had slept with him. 

"In the bed, same as you," Mr. Phantomhive replied.

"Oh," Adrian blushed, nomming into his muffin, he nommed away, hoping to hide his mind's thoughts with muffin crumbs. 

"It was quite interesting for me, honestly," Mr. Phantomhive confessed. 

"What was? Not having sex?" Adrian frowned. That was such a rich guy thing to say. How many people had Mr. Phantomhive slept with over the course of his lifetime? He could bring anyone to their knees if he wanted, literally and figuratively. 

"Sleeping with someone," Mr. Phantomhive rested his chin on his hand. He stared at the muffin, looking sorry for it, almost, and returned to picking up pieces with his hand and not the knife. 

Adrian stood up. He returned to the bathroom. He looked around for a hairdryer. He didn't understand why he had to dry his hair, except to appease the god among mankind. He sighed. Should he brush his teeth? He didn't have a toothbrush. He wanted to use Mr. Phantomhive's. Was that perverted? He didn't care at this point. He grabbed it, brushed his teeth, and walked out. Mr. Phantomhive waited at the door for him. 

The two walked in silence to the elevator. Once the door closed something happened. An electric current ran through the atmosphere. There was a difference. Was it the enclosed space? The close proximity? The fact that there was just Adrian and Mr. Phantomhive inside a place meant for the public? They were cut off from the rest of the world, lowering down into an abyss, and yet, there is an attraction between the two. 

Adrian bit his lip. Mr. Phantomhive turned his head. A simple blink and Adrian found himself pinned against the wall. His knees about to give out. But, that's fine, Mr. Phantomhive is supporting him with his hips. His hand tightly wrapped around Adrian's wrists, holding them above his head. His lips against Adrian's. He got his wish. Mr. Phantomhive bit Adrian's lip. Adrian moaned. His mouth opened, allowing Mr. Phantomhive an entrance. A dance. A dance of two tongues. The forbidden dance that Adrian hadn't experienced before. He hadn't kissed anyone before. 

Mr. Phantomhive's free hand grabbed Adrian's chin. He held his face in place. There was no escape. Adrian could feel the grip on his hands. He could feel the grip on his face. He could feel the hips on his hips; Mr. Phantomhive's growing erection. He wanted it. He wanted him in this elevator. The feeling was mutual. Adrian wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab it. Impossible. His hands weren't free. Forbidden fruit. What secrets did Mr. Phantomhive have? 

"Is this proof enough?" Mr. Phantomhive whispered. His lips still close to Adrian's, grazing his with each word. He pressed his erection further against Adrian's stomach. "Do you know now how I feel about you, Mister Crevan? Or, will you still second guess yourself?" 

Adrian bit his lower lip. He'd properly seduced Mr. Phantomhive. The man said he wouldn't touch him without him signing some sort of paperwork. And now, here they were, in the elevator with business to attend to. He was so proud of himself. Finally getting a piece of what he wanted. 

Mr. Phantomhive rested his thumb on Adrian's lip. The same spot that Adrian kept biting. He forced it into that mouth of his and grabbed the lip from both sides. Mr. Phantomhive tugged on it. "You are incredibly sweet, Mister Crevan, too sweet for your own good."

The doors to the elevator opened. Adrian blinked and Mr. Phantomhive leaned up against the side of the opposing wall. It took all Adrian could manage to remain standing after that. He stared at Mr. Phantomhive. The man was cool and composed as if nothing had taken place. And, that erection, Adrian could barely notice it. What sorcery was this? 

Adrian stood up straight. He inched his way closer to Mr. Phantomhive. "You brushed your teeth," Mr. Phantomhive said. Ah, so, not a dream then. That really happened. 

"I used your toothbrush," Adrian smirked. He was tempted to bite his lip again just to see what Mr. Phantomhive would do to stop him. But, he didn't. 

Mr. Phantomhive shook his head. "Adrian Crevan, what on earth am I going to do with you?" 

The elevator doors chimed. They've reached their destination. What was it about elevators? Couples are always whispering to each other in the background. Adrian tried to pick up the last of his wits. He'd just had them all scrambled and thrown in the elevator by Mr. Phantomhive. What a way to start today...


	6. Chapter Six

"Phantomhive," he snapped, whilst answering his phone with his steering wheel. 

"I have the information you require." 

"Email it to me," he hung up. His phone rang again. "Phantomhive," he answered. 

"Everything with the most recent company endeavor has been set in stone." 

"Fantastic. Is that all?" Mr. Phantomhive didn't seem the slightest bit enthusiastic. 

"No, good day, sir," there was a click. This was the fifth call he had answered in the span of entering his car. Was his life always like this? No wonder he was a bit cold. Another ring. 

"Phantomhive," he growled. 

"Hi, Vincent, did you take the male you were interested in home?" Adrian blinked. What? 

"Hello, William," Mr. Phantomhive frowned. "You're on speakerphone, for the record, and I am not alone in this car." 

"Who would be with you? Did you get laid after all?" William replied. William, the brother of Mr. Phantomhive. Grell had given Adrian the family information the night after that interview. She said Mr. Phantomhive had a brother and a sister. The brother was known for saying what he thought. He lacked a filter. The sister, Francis, was also that way. There wasn't much of a difference between the two. However, the difference between the siblings vs Mr. Phantomhive was quite clear. He didn't look right standing next to his adopted family. You could tell there wasn't a blood relation. For one thing, the hair and expressions were a dead give away. William and Francis were always deadpanned. Mr. Phantomhive, although his expressions were usually fake, still had the ability to smile. 

"Adrian Crevan." 

"Oh, Dri, hello, I've heard a lot about you," William said. Dri? _Dri_? Why was William calling him by his nickname? It sounded weird. 

"I'm dropping _Adrian_ off now," Mr. Phantomhive put emphasis on Adrian's full name. Was he angry about the familiarity William was showing? 

"Right, well, see you soon," William replied. Mr. Phantomhive hung up. See him soon? What? What was going on? Why was William at Adrian's apartment? Oh fuck. Did he sleep with Grell?

"You can call me 'Dri' too, you know?" 

"Adrian." 

Adrian sighed. Guess that wasn't happening. Mr. Phantomhive wasn't the type for pet names. One block further and the two would arrive right outside Adrian's apartment. Was this where they parted ways? No. Mr. Phantomhive was getting out of his car. Right. William was here. 

"Adrian," Mr. Phantomhive said. Adrian turned to look at him. He wasn't that far away from opening the door to his apartment. "What happened in the elevator will not happen again." Adrian tried his best to hid his obvious disappointment. "You'll understand tonight, should you wish to understand the secret I've been keeping." Adrian nodded. He most definitely wanted to know whatever that was. 

"I liked what happened in that elevator," Adrian mumbled, opening the door. He climbed up the steps and opened another door. What the fuck? Was that Grell cuddling on the couch with the brother of the richest man in existence? He looked so angry too. 

"Hi, Dri!~" Grell jumped up off of the couch and hugged Adrian. She promptly released him and shot a glare at Mr. Phantomhive. "Vincent," she spat. 

"Miss Sutcliff," he replied, a bit formal and a bit stiff. 

"Her name is Grell," William adjusted his glasses. 

"Grell," Mr. Phantomhive glared at William as he said this. 

William sighed in response. "Not everyone has the same aversion to first names as you, Vincent," he explained. He turned his attention back to Grell and Adrian. "Hello, Dri," he waved. Adrian liked him. He was cold but there was a warmth. Mr. Phantomhive gave off a dangerous north pole vibe. William was more like an ice cube resting in a delectable beverage. No danger. Just refreshing. 

"William, we should leave," Mr. Phantomhive said. 

"If you insist," William stood up. Grell grabbed his shirt, pulled him closer, and gave him a passionate, lingering, beautiful kiss. Adrian was reminded of the elevator. He glanced at Mr. Phantomhive. The male was clearly displeased at the obvious sign of affection. Adrian thought for sure William would be stiff as a board. He looked like the type that wasn't used to such grand gestures. Adrian was wrong. William grabbed Grell, dipping her so that her hair touched the floor, continuing to kiss her. 

"I do hope that we meet again," William admitted. He placed Grell upright and followed Mr. Phantomhive out. Grell looked the most lovestruck she had been in years. 

The door closed. It was just Adrian and Grell now. "Did you...?" Grell smirked. 

"No!" Adrian frowned. "But, he is taking me to his place again tonight. Like, his home home, like, I have no idea how we are going to get there but he said tonight so..." 

"Oooo, do you think you will then? Do you want to, anyway? I haven't seen you so interested in anybody," Grell grabbed Adrian's shoulders. She shook him lightly while asking a bunch of questions. 

"Enough about me, what about you? You and William seem to be getting it on," Adrian raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh, well, you know," Grell held her face in her hands to hide the blush forming. "He is a bit nice. Oh!" Grell grabbed Adrian's hands and brought him into the bedroom. "We simply must make you irresistible for tonight's scandalous affair. You must get some of that dazzling Phantomhive!" 

"I don't know if that is possible..." 

"Just. Leave. It. To. Me." Grell blew a kiss in Adrian's direction. "I am a miracle worker." 

...

"Would you like something to drink?" Mr. Phantomhive asked. After what happened last night? That must be a joke. Or, perhaps, he wasn't talking about alcohol. Adrian looked around. This didn't seem real. He'd just been inside a helicopter flown by Mr. Phantomhive himself. Now he was in his home being offered a drink. Wow. How times change. 

He sighed, pouring himself a glass of wine. Oh. So. Real alcohol then. "Please stop biting your lip. It's distracting." 

"That's why I'm here, isn't it? To be distracting," Adrian said. Mr. Phantomhive tilted his head back a bit to drink the wine. He looked like a king. He placed the glass down on the table and sat down. He slid a small pile of papers over to the other end, inviting Adrian to sit. Adrian sat. 

"This is a nondisclosure agreement," he pointed. "Sign that and it means anything and everything that happens involving the two of us you are not allowed to speak about with anyone. _Anyone_. Including your closest family members or friends. I like to keep my private life private if you recall," Mr. Phantomhive took a sip of his wine. 

Done and done. Adrian doesn't think about anything. He just signed. "You should always read the things you sign," Mr. Phantomhive scolded. 

"If it means I get your dick in my ass one of these days I'm going to sign any piece of paper you throw at me. I don't like talking about my personal life either, for the record, so I wouldn't have said anything regardless," Adrian waved the papers around. "This is too much for me to read. I'll get lost on page three. So, here you go," He slid the stack to Mr. Phantomhive. He was surprised at himself for saying what he was thinking so easily. Must be the atmosphere of being who knows how far away from everyone he knew. 

"So, does this mean you'll make love to me tonight?" Adrian smiled. 

"No, not yet. I don't make love. I fuck. Hard. And there is still the matter of my playroom. But, that is for another day. Are you a virgin, Mister Crevan?" he asked the question so casually that Adrian forgot all about the 'playroom.' "You don't need to answer that. Your expression says enough. So, I suggest you call the man of your dreams and get fucked, Mister Crevan. If I lay my hands on you without you knowing what sex is like, you will most certainly never be satisfied by normal sex again. Do you understand?" Adrian nodded. He couldn't talk. He was too stunned to speak. 

"That's impossible." 

"I don't think it's that impossible, Mister Crevan, you're far more attractive than you give yourself credit for," Mr. Phantomhive trailed on. He wasn't understanding what Adrian meant. So, he'd just have to say it no matter how embarrassed he'd become. 

"You're the man of my dreams, Mr. Phantomhive." 

The sound of glass echoed in the room. Mr. Phantomhive had dropped his wine from the shock of the statement lingering on his ears. "You have a multitude of normal individuals in your everyday life. The photographer, Ronald Knox, I'm sure there are others, and yet you say that I, the most fucked up of all of them, am the man of your dreams? Mister Crevan," Mr. Phantomhive inhaled sharply, "do you understand the gravity of what you're saying?" Mr. Phantomhive stared at the wine bottle, tempted to drink out of it without a glass, he grabbed it. His grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. Did Adrian break the richest man in the universe? The thought excited him. That is, until, the wine bottle broke and all of its insides dripped from the table onto Mr. Phantomhive's clothes. 

"Mr. Phantomhive," a tall, dark-haired, fellow with thick eyebrows walked into the room. "There is someone waiting on a call for you." 

"Ah, yes," Mr. Phantomhive stood up and walked out of the room. The male remained and began cleaning up the wine. He glanced up at Adrian. 

"You don't know a damn thing about him," he glared. Fiesty. Did this guy have a thing for Mr. Phantomhive? Adrian wasn't in a relationship with him. Not yet, anyway, so what was this guy all angry about?

"Is that a problem?" Adrian smirked. "Do I need to know everything about him?" 

"You should at least know one thing," he never stopped glaring. He pointed. "The 'playroom' as he calls it. Why don't you see what is in there? Everyone that sees leaves eventually. I'm sure you won't have the balls to stick around either. Mr. Phantomhive is not a normal man." He stopped talking. He returned to cleaning. 

Curiosity got the best of him. Adrian remembered hearing Mr. Phantomhive mention something about a 'playroom.' He got up off of the chair. He walked over to the door. He opened it. He walked in. This door leads to a staircase. Adrian climbed the staircase. There is another door. Adrian walked in. _Holy fuck_. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell of leather. Wood. Polish with citrus. This room is red. Entirely red. There was any number of ropes, paddles, whips, riding-crops, and feathery items. Adrian stopped looking at all of them. His interest was in the bed. It looked ancient. Ancient in a good way, as if he were standing in the halls of an earl's manor. A bed fit for the richest man in the universe. There is a canopy. More chains. More cuffs. No bedding. Just a mattress with red leather and red satin cushions. There was a couch facing this bed. Adrian heard footsteps. He panicked. Shit. He was going to get caught snooping around in a place that was _designed_ to torture people (in a good way, of course, we aim to please). 

He turned, tempted to run away, but Mr. Phantomhive stared at him with condescending eyes. "Are you that eager to be corrupted, Mister Crevan?" he asked. "I'm trying my damndest to control myself and you are making things incredibly difficult for me," Mr. Phantomhive, always the control freak, Adrian shivered. The room wasn't cold but he shivered all the same. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I was curious. He made me quite curious and pointed me in this direction. I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry." He wasn't afraid, no, Adrian wasn't afraid of Mr. Phantomhive. He trusted in his control. He did fear for the guy he'd just tattled on though. 

Mr. Phantomhive picked up one of the various canes lurking by the couch. "I see, so it was Diedrich," he turned on his heel to leave. 

"Are you going to punish him?" Adrian grabbed Mr. Phantomhive's arm. He intended to stop him. The face Mr. Phantomhive made...Adrian wouldn't be able to forget it. 

"Fear not, Mister Crevan, I can assure you I only do this to individuals that want me to. I have no interest in abusing others. If you had waited long enough for me to explain the rest of the paperwork, perhaps you wouldn't look so scared." Mr. Phantomhive grabbed Adrian's chin. "I warned you. You cannot say that I didn't warn you. What will you do now, Adrian? Am I still the man of your dreams?" 

"Oh fuck yes," Adrian whispered then inhaled sharply. All of his logic ran out the window. "Take my virginity. Fuck me, hard, if you have to, but please fuck me either way." 

Mr. Phantomhive held the cane tightly in his hand. His knuckles turned white. He released his grasp on Adrian's chin and slammed the cane into the door, shattering it into pieces. His eye twitched. Adrian didn't know if he was pissed off or trying desperately not to lay a hand on him. In any case, Mr. Phantomhive pointed with the cane to the doorway. "Go downstairs. I'm going to get the paperwork." 

...

Adrian had been staring at this spot on the wall for hours waiting for Mr. Phantomhive to come out of his playroom. He didn't know what was happening up there but he could tell whatever it was would take a while. Mr. Phantomhive's eye was twitching quite a bit when he'd dragged Diedrich by the neck up to that room. Poor guy. Well, probably not, he was probably enjoying it. Was Diedrich a masochist? Did he do all of that on purpose just to piss off Mr. Phantomhive? 

Adrian sighed. This spot on the wall wasn't getting any more interesting. Mr. Phantomhive sat down in the seat across from him. His hair was a bit messed up. His tie was missing. He slammed papers down in front of Adrian. "The paperwork," he began, "you've signed the nondisclosure agreement so ask me anything you'd like." 

Adrian looked through the paperwork. He figured he should look at this one. He wasn't reading things very closely. He'd rather ask questions. "How many individuals have signed this?" 

"Fifteen." Oh. That was more than Adrian thought. That meant fifteen people had signed this. Fifteen people had been fucked, hard, by Mr. Phantomhive. Adrian clicked his tongue in disgust. There it was again. He was being possessive over a man that he wasn't in a relationship with. 

"Do I disgust you, Mister Crevan?" Mr. Phantomhive asked. No. Not at all. That gesture wasn't about you, specifically, it was about the fifteen. Adrian picked up the pen. He tapped the back of it against the papers. 

"Tell me what this says. It's way bigger than the last one. I'm not going to read it all," Adrian admitted. 

Mr. Phantomhive sighed. "They are rules," he began, "rules that may be subject to change. The dos and the don'ts of how I work. In short, I will own you, Mister Crevan. You will obey me. If you don't obey me, you will be punished. Once you have signed this document, I will also be yours, in a sense. I don't own multiple people at one time. But, normal relationships are something I can never have." 

_I will also be yours_. Well, you didn't have to tell Adrian twice. No. Stop. He had to ask more questions before he can't ask anything else again. This was his small window of opportunity to ask everything he could. "Will you hurt me? Physically, will you hurt me?" 

Mr. Phantomhive inhaled sharply. "I will punish you. It will be painful." Adrian's heart skipped a beat. He wanted that. He was naughty for wanting it but he wanted that. Mr. Phantomhive flipped through the pages to the list of hard limits. "These are the things I will absolutely not do. As you are a virgin, you likely won't know what makes you uncomfortable, so feel free to add your own as our agreement continues. That is, should you still wish to sign." 

Adrian looked at the list. Most of it was related to fire. There was one related to sharp objects, needles, knives, and various other cutting instruments. Those were the only things Adrian had a hard 'no' on. He had scars from that kind of misery. Adrian clicked the pen. His hand hovered over the line. He just had one more thing to ask about. 

"What about Diedrich?" he frowned. 

"Diedrich works for me here. He has signed this, yes, but he only sticks around when the others leave. I suppose you could say he is the closest thing I have to a friend," Mr. Phantomhive explained. Good. So. He wasn't competition. 

Adrian lifted his pen to sign. No. Wait. This was the only thing keeping Mr. Phantomhive so restrained. He shouldn't sign his life over so easily. Look at him. Look at those eyes. They're practically pleading for Adrian to sign. He should enjoy this as much as he can. "I'll have to think about it, of course," Adrian put the pen down. 

"It's a trial period, of about three months. It only applies to the weekends." 

"I still have to think about it. I've never had sex before. Do I really want to sign my soul to you? Becoming a practical sex slave?" Adrian sighed. 

"You say that _now_?" Mr. Phantomhive looked as if he was about to laugh. "That is only what I've been telling you the entire time. Does it hurt to have your opinions of me so brutally destroyed? Tell me, I'd like to know." 

"My opinion of you hasn't changed, Mr. Phantomhive," Adrain confessed. "I really just need time to think about it," that was a lie. He didn't. He would sign it right now. However, he wanted to savor this brief moment of control over Mr. Phantomhive. 

"Very well," Mr. Phantomhive closed his eyes. "I suppose there can be some compromise. You are the first virgin I've ever come across. It would be rude of me to assume I can corrupt you so easily. You have every right to refuse," he opened his eyes again. This was the most emotion he had ever revealed to Adrian. He looked about ready to explode. "I have reached my limit. Please, Adrian, may I make love to you?"

"I thought you didn't mak-"

"I don't. But, as I said before, there can be some compromise. It's incorrect of me to say that I don't make love. It would be more correct for me to say I have never made love. I have only ever fucked. It is the only thing I know how to do. So, a night of firsts. Tit for tat. You will be the first and likely only individual I will ever make love to. I, on the other hand, will take your virginity. They are not equal but this is the only thing I can think of." 

Adrian was sold. He couldn't think of a better option. "Yes," he whispered. He was here because he wanted that. He had only come because he'd wanted that. Now he could have it and still think about this contract thing. Two birds with one stone. Mr. Phantomhive stood up and grabbed Adrian's hand. He dragged him into his bedroom. The walls are white. The room is vast. The furnishings are a shade of blue to match Mr. Phantomhive's hair. Breathtaking. 

Mr. Phantomhive released his grip on Adrian's hand. He removed his watch, placing it on the dresser. He removed his jacket, throwing it on the floor. He opened the drawer, grabbing what looks like lube and a condom. He threw that on the bed. Adrian watched his every move. He sat on the bed, unsure of what to do, and continued to watch Mr. Phantomhive. 

He walked over to Adrian. He grabbed a strand of hair and placed it behind Adrian's ear. "Do you have any idea what I am going to do to you?" He placed his fingers on Adrian's cheek, caressing his lower lip with his thumb. Adrian had no idea. But he was excited to find out. Very excited. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Mr. Phantomhive kissed Adrian. So sweet, so sharp, that he wanted to close his eyes. He was incapable. Mr. Phantomhive's gaze was too strong. He was hypnotized. His hands moved to unbutton Adrian's shirt. Carefully, they go, lingering on each button. Adrian's body temperature rose. His heartbeat quickened. He was afraid. He was excited. He was a mixture of things. Mr. Phantomhive was cold, calm, as usual. He placed kisses across Adrian's jaw, chin, and the corners of Adrian's mouth. The shirt was gone. Resting on the floor someplace. Mr. Phantomhive took a step back. He stared at Adrian. 

"I want to kiss your entire body," Mr. Phantomhive confessed. "Every inch. Adrian, you have such wonderful skin." Wonderful? What was that supposed to mean? His skin was scarred in every location. There was no shard of beauty here. Mr. Phantomhive was the true beauty. Mr. Phantomhive grabbed the sides of Adrian's head. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Your hair, I've wanted to run my hands through it from the moment you fell into my office." 

His hand trailed down Adrian's head along his spine. He ran his fingers through Adrian's hair, gently tugging on it. His hand reached Adrian's pant line. Adrian gasped when he felt the cold fingers on his ass. He eased Adrian onto the bed. He kissed the center of his chest down to his stomach. His hands followed him where he kissed, grabbing the edge of Adrian's pants tightly. 

Mr. Phantomhive undid the button, the zipper, guiding the jeans off. He felt as he went. Adrian shivered. His ass, his crotch, his thighs, every inch of his leg wasn't safe to those hands. Those long fingers gently touching him. Stroking him. His dick twitched when exposed. His shoes fell off with a light 'thud' on the ground. Adrian was completely naked now. Mr. Phantomhive got on his knees. He rested his lips on Adrian's knee, sliding up to his inner thigh. 

"Adrian, you smell unbelievably delicious," he licked his lips. "You're so beautiful too. Ah, I so desperately want to be inside you," he confessed. It's no secret that Adrian was hard by this point. 

"Will you show me?" Mr. Phantomhive asked. "Will you show me how you pleasure yourself?" Adrian shook his head. He didn't. Not once. He thought dirty things from time to time but he hadn't gotten hard. There was the occasional morning when he woke up like that but he never touched himself. He always waited. Adrian was a patient man. 

"I don't," he averted his gaze. 

"Is that so?" Mr. Phantomhive stood up. He carefully slid out of his pants. Adrian moved further onto the bed. Mr. Phantomhive followed. He grabbed Adrian's legs, pulling them upward and apart, he kissed Adrian's calf. "I wonder what it would take to make you come, Adrian," he whispered, lips against Adrian's leg, grazing him with each word spoken. 

Adrian's hands clenched the sheets. It's very hard to remain still with all of this happening. He thought he was patient. He was wrong. He just wanted Mr. Phantomhive inside him. He wanted to be fucked, forget the love, he wanted sweet release. Adrian gasped when Mr. Phantomhive moved down his leg and up his torso. That tongue, the wonders it did, he gasped again when Mr. Phantomhive bit down on his chest. 

"Please," he whispered. 

"Oh, that's nice, beg for me again, Adrian," Mr. Phantomhive smiled into Adrian's chest. 

"Please, I don't know how much more of this I can take," Adrian pleaded. He can hear the crinkling of a packet opening but refused to look. He was afraid to see. He wanted to. He wanted to see Mr. Phantomhive's erection, but he just couldn't look. Yes, he could. He stared. Bewildered. Perplexed. How was _that_ ever going to fit inside him? 

"There is no turning back after this, Adrian, are you certain?" Adrian nodded. Yes. Gods, yes, he was certain. Adrian quivered when he felt lubed fingers inside him. Weird. Odd. Foreign. Mr. Phantomhive worked steadily to expand his entrance. Adrian had lost count of how many times he'd moaned. 

At last, he could feel the tip of Mr. Phantomhive's cock inside his ass. Adrian drooled with anticipation. He leaned forward, on top of Adrian now, fully inside. Adrian grabbed his arms. He wanted this. He wanted this so badly and now it was here. Steadily slow movements. The pace quickened before he could realize it. Adrian didn't know how much he needed this until this very moment. It was only Mr. Phantomhive and Adrian. The two responding to each other in a wordless agreement. And then, warmth. He could feel the cum in his ass. There was a thin wall between it. He could still feel the warmth. He moaned. His own bodily fluid escaping his dick. It splattered all over himself and a bit on Mr. Phantomhive. 

"More, please," Adrian requested the minute Mr. Phantomhive's dick was no longer in his ass. 

"So soon? My, my, if you insist." The sound of plastic moving. The crinkling of another packet. Adrian was too focused on Mr. Phantomhive's eyes to pay attention. "Roll onto your stomach." He rolled on his stomach. "Lift up your ass and rest on your knees." He lifted his ass up. He rested on his knees. Mr. Phantomhive placed his hand at the base of Adrian's back and slid it up to his neck. He wrapped it around Adrian's neck, squeezing it. 

"Why are you still wearing your shirt?" Adrian asked. 

"Do you want to feel my skin against your skin as I ram into you, Adrian?" he asked. The question was innocent until Mr. Phanomhive had asked that. Adrian's breath hitched. He hadn't intended for his shirt question to be taken so...well...like _that_...but now that Mr. Phantomhive had asked the question of his own, Adrian realized that was exactly what he wanted. 

"Please," he begged. Mr. Phantomhive removed his hand from Adrian's neck. He tore off his shirt and threw it to the floor. He pressed his back against Adrain's. Adrian moaned. Yes. Yes. This was what he wanted. 

"I do love your skin, Adrian," Mr. Phantomhive confessed once again. "Oh, Adrian, do remember that you are mine. Only mine. Please don't forget," Mr. Phantomhive placed a kiss on Adrian's neck. He shivered at the touch. Mr. Phantomhive shoved his thumb into Adrian's ass. He moved it in a clockwise rotation. Adrian whimpered. That's not what he wanted. It wasn't enough.

Mr. Phantomhive grabbed Adrian's hair and pulled his head back. He forced that same thumb into Adrian's mouth. "This is what you taste like, Adrian," he said. Adrian sucked on that thumb. It was gross. Filthy. Disgusting. That thumb had just been in his ass. He sucked all the same. Drool still managing to escape his mouth. 

He inserted himself into Adrian for the second time. His grip on Adrian's hair still firm. His movements slow. "Every time you move tomorrow you'll be reminded that I've been here. Only me. Just me. No one else. You are mine, sweet Adrian." 

"Now," he whispered into Adrian's ear. Adrian had no idea he could bend like this until Mr. Phantomhive pulled his head back by his hair. "Come." Cum he did. All over the bed. Mr. Phantomhive did too. Inside him. Adrian moaned loudly. He passed out. No longer sentient. No longer receptive. But, perfectly happy. 

...

The sound of classical music rested on Adrian's ears. His whole body awakened. He noticed right away what this song was. Piano Sonata No. 14 in C♯ minor "Quasi una fantasia" Op. 27, No. 2. Beethoven. Adrian stepped out of the bed and followed the melody to a room with a grand piano in the center of it. Not just _any_ grand piano. Steinway Model D 9' Concert Grand Piano. Worth about $56k. A penny in the eyes of Mr. Phantomhive. 

But, it wasn't the piano that Adrian cared about. It was the male that sat at the piano. His arms looked much longer than Adrian remembered. His fingers resting gently on the keys as his body played the triplet rhythms of the piece. His eyes closed. His head tilted back. There was no sheet music. He played from memory. The light of the full moon resting on his face. The wall of windows allowing such a thing. Mr. Phantomhive wore no clothes. His foot was on the pedal pressing lightly from time to time. The "Moonlight Sonata" would never be as beautiful to Adrian again. 

Mr. Phantomhive's expression is forlorn, crestfallen, shrouded in lonely misery. The moon's light only surrounded him. He was in a bubble of his own with darkness all around. The agony of his emotions expressed in the notes of the piano. Slow. Methodical. With purpose. Adrian was mesmerized, unable to tell if Mr. Phantomhive was crying or if the moon's light rested on his cheeks to provide that illusion. His long eyelashes fluttered open. He stared at Adrian and lifted his hands. Adrian's ears cried upon being unable to hear the full piece. 

"I apologize if I have disturbed your sleep," Mr. Phantomhive rested his hands on his lap. He stared at the piano, the emotions of the song still lingered within him. "I'll refrain from playing. Please, return to bed, you need sleep."

"Such a sorrow-filled melancholic melody."

"It's supposed to be sad," Mr. Phantomhive pointed to the door Adrian refused to utilize. "Go back to bed." There was something about the way Mr. Phantomhive spoke that was unlike him. He was vulnerable, almost, refusing to look at Adrian. 

"I woke up and you weren't there," Adrian sighed. 

"Sleep is a difficult endeavor for me and I am not used to sharing a bed with anyone." Mr. Phantomhive lowered his arm to strike a key. He then closed the piano and placed the dust cover in its rightful position. He still refused to look at Adrian. 

"When did you first start playing?" 

"Since before I could walk." Mr. Phantomhive stood up. He walked over to Adrian. The moon did wonders for his appearance. Adrian couldn't stop to think about catching a glance at his naked body, he was too enthralled with his face. 

Mr. Phantomhive grabbed Adrian's shoulders, turned him around, and walked him out of the room. Back to the bedroom they went. Ah. So he had decided since Adrian wasn't listening to him he would take matters into his own hands. 

"Go to sleep," Mr. Phantomhive ordered. He pushed Adrian gently onto the bed. 

"But-"

" _Sleep_." 

Adrian closed his mouth. He curled up into a ball under the covers and sighed. He wanted to talk to Mr. Phantomhive more. His heart skipped a beat when Mr. Phantomhive joined him. He thought for sure he would disappear. Adrian smiled. He closed his eyes. The man that sleeps with no one is going to sleep with him, for the second time. 


	8. Chapter Eight

The sight of Vincent Phantomhive's face in the morning was enough to cure every illness on the planet. Adrian was sure of it. He couldn't stop staring. His long eyelashes gently twitched. His breathing as chest moved up and down carefully. When had he put on that shirt? That was a crime. Adrian wanted to see more of him. He wanted to touch him. He couldn't. He had to be good. Do something wrong and he might never see Mr. Phantomhive's sleeping face again. 

Adrian got out of bed. He wandered to the dresser and grabbed a t-shirt. Walking around naked might be nice for Mr. Phantomhive in the middle of the night but daylight was something else. He fumbled through the drawers and shoved on some sweatpants. Going commando wasn't his style but he didn't have much of a choice. His clothes were missing from the night before. 

He meandered into the kitchen, determined to make breakfast, without any idea of what Mr. Phantomhive liked or disliked. He examined the drawers. The cabinets. The fridge. Lots of rich people things. Adrian sighed. Eggs and bacon would have to do. He couldn't cook rich people food. He hummed a tune to himself and danced around without a care of who saw him or not. It was a tradition for breakfast making when you lived with Grell Sutcliff. You must hum. You must dance. You must swing your hips and wave your hair. Only long-haired individuals allowed. He was so preoccupied with his own routine that he'd forgotten this wasn't his apartment. Mortified by the fact he'd been spotted by Mr. Phantomive, he stopped in his tracks. 

"Oh, please, do continue your frivolous dance," Mr. Phantomhive leaned up against the counter, staring at Adrian with an amused smirk on his face. His t-shirt was black and two sizes too big. It looked like a dress on him but he still looked sexy for absolutely no reason other than he was a magical man. Adrian turned his attention back to the pan. He poked at the eggs with the spatula in his hands. 

"How do you like your eggs?" Adrian asked. 

"Thoroughly scrambled and beaten into submission." Adrian snapped his head back to look at Mr. Phantomhive. He was joking, right? No. He was completely serious. "I'm kidding, of course," Mr. Phantomhive sat down at the table. That was a lie. He wasn't kidding. He didn't look at all like he was kidding. Adrian poured hot water into a teacup and placed the teabag on the saucer. He placed the teacup down in front of Mr. Phantomhive. 

"You made me tea?" He looked at the cup, shocked. Adrian was proud of himself. Yes. He was getting better at forcing emotions out of this mysterious man. 

"You don't like coffee, right?" Adrian went back into the kitchen to thoroughly scramble some eggs. He returned moments later with two plates of eggs and bacon. Adrian placed the plate down and went to sit opposite to Mr. Phantomhive. He winced. His ass hurt like hell on this wooden chair. 

"Stop biting your lip," Mr. Phantomhive picked up the fork. Adrian hadn't realized he was doing that. He stopped. "Now that you've entered the world of fornication and sexual pleasure, I suppose it will only be natural to continue corrupting you," Mr. Phantomhive ate a mouthful of eggs. Shock once again in his eyes. Were they bad? Were they good? The shock could be read either way. "Do you want to be corrupted, Mister Crevan?" his eyes held a twinge of humor and devilish intent. 

"Yes, please," Adrian murmured. 

"Then we shall see what we can manage before tonight. You have to work in the morning, do you not?" 

"Surely you could get me to my place tomorrow before work. I could stay the night."

"No, you will go home tonight," Mr. Phantomhive replied firmly. "Then you will consider the contract and reply." Adrian frowned. He ate his eggs and bacon silently. His moment of power was over, not that he had any to begin with. 

...

Adrian watched as Mr. Phantomhive filled the tub of water. He poured some scented oils or something or other into it and sat, shirt and all, in the steaming water. He held out his hand for Adrian to grab. "Join me," he said. Adrian stripped out of the clothing he'd stolen from the rich man and got into the tub. He wanted to hide behind his hair so he pulled out the tie that kept it together and threw it on the clothes. 

"You're a very beautiful man, Mister Crevan," he said. Mr. Phantomhive outstretched his hand and placed strands of Adrian's hair behind his ear, making one of his eyes visible. "I do wish you'd stop biting your lip. It makes me want to fuck that mouth of yours. You're already sore. You really should stop that." There wasn't much water in the tub. Just enough to reach Adrian's thighs. Mr. Phantomhive's crotch was covered by his floating shirt. Adrian had nothing to cover himself with. His hair wasn't nearly enough. 

Mr. Phantomhive poured liquid soap on his hands and rubbed Adrian's body. Adrian leaned into his touch involuntarily, enjoying every moment of it. "You smell divine," Mr. Phantomhive smiled. Adrian was in the bath, naked, with Mr. Phantomhive. He was being washed by Mr. Phantomhive. This must be a dream. "Skin so soft, face so beautiful, hair an unusual color. All of my favorite things in one individual." 

"I thought you liked brunettes..."

"What gave you that impression?"

"Everyone at your company has dark hair, Mr. Phantomhive." 

He was silent. "Oh, you're right," it appeared that he didn't realize it himself that everyone around him had dark hair. "How strange..." Mr. Phantomhive ceased washing Adrian. "In any case, I think you're clean enough now." The removal of his hands left Adrian wanting his touch. Mr. Phantomhive rested his arms on the sides of the tub. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. A low growl escaped his throat. "Fuck," he muttered. 

Adrian, curious as always, looked down at the water. Oh. _Oh_. Fuck indeed. Mr. Phantomhive was hard. _And still growing_. Adrian lathered his hands in liquid soap. It was true that he didn't touch himself. It was also true that he hadn't had sex. But, that didn't mean he'd never imagined it or that he hadn't ever watched porn.

He wrapped his hands around Mr. Phantomhive's cock. The richest man in the universe snapped his head up and stared at Adrian with wide eyes. Yes. That's nice. Show him some more of what you're really thinking. _It makes me want to fuck that mouth of yours._ A sheepish grin appeared on Adrian's lips. Mr. Phantomhive had said it himself. Adrian leaned forward and placed his lips around his cock, tentatively sucking, running his tongue over the tip. 

"Dri...wha-" he groaned and closed his eyes. A small shade of pink on his cheeks. Adrian was ecstatic. The ice-cold man melted in his mouth. He'd called him 'Dri' for the first time. Adrian moved down. He pushed him further into his mouth sucking him harder with his tongue twirling as he went. He could do this. He could fuck Mr. Phantomhive with his mouth. He could turn the tables. 

He pushed him further and further all the way to the base of his mouth and then he moved to the front again. He repeated the movement. Mr. Phantomhive raised his hips. Hm. Who was in control now? Adrian suppressed a smile. 

Mr. Phantomhive's movements were sudden. He grabbed the fringe on Adrian's head and forced him back. Adrian laid on the tub's floor, with this head against the side. Mr. Phantomhive straddled him, forcing his head forward, Adrian's lips still ajar from having sucked his cock. He looked up into Mr. Phantomhive's eyes. Nothing but lust. Desire. A desire for him in particular. He couldn't be happier. Adrian moved his tongue to his lower lip. He licked the space he usually bit, before biting. This tipped Mr. Phantomhive over the edge. 

With a firm grip on Adrian's hair, he thrust his cock into his mouth violently. He moved in and out with haste. Quite literally, fucking Adrian's mouth. He couldn't breathe. He didn't gag but his air was limited. His eyes stung with the force of this massive dick entering and exiting his throat. He wasn't crying. He was drooling from all crevices of his face. For the first time, all walls of the richest man in the universe were gone. He was finally getting a taste of Vincent. The cool exterior turned into a fiery passionate man. 

"Dri," Vincent laughed, eyes entirely revealing his impish tastes. His grip on Adrian's hair tightened. "I'm going to come in your mouth, you seductive whore, so that every inch of you belongs to me. Digest my salty insides from both ends, darling Adrian." The water made waves that lapped against Adrian's neck. He quivered with delight as the salty semen trailed down his throat into his stomach. 

Vincent released his grip on Adrian's hair. He moved to the far side of the bath, to get as far away from Adrian as possible. He stared at his hands. "Fucking hell," terror rested in his eyes. "I apologize," he said. "Shit." Adrian watched as Vincent retreated further into himself. Walls returned before his very eyes. Mr. Phantomhive got out of the tub. Icey exterior back to haunt Adrian's dreams. 

He rung out his black t-shirt in his hands. He allowed the water to drench the floor. "You will return home tonight," he said. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. "Until you have signed the contract, until you are mine, I will not be able to touch you again. You must understand the risks, Mister Crevan." He walked out, leaving Adrian alone lying in the tub with cum around his lips. He wiped it away with his thumb, sucking on it, wondering why the fuck he decided to hold the contract over Mr. Phantomhive's head when would've signed it so easily. His resolve withered. He told himself to hold out just a bit longer to see how much Mr. Phantomhive truly wanted him...but that was becoming difficult. Adrian wanted Mr. Phantomhive most of all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's probably impossible from the position they were in but this is the wonder of fanfiction.  
> For the power of Esophagus Sex.
> 
> Don't think about it too hard.


	9. Chapter Nine

Mr. Phantomhive agreed to take Adrian out on a date before returning him to his apartment. The two sat at a table with food before them. The atmosphere awkward. Mr. Phantomhive was regal as ever. Adrian was angry with himself for holding out on that contract for so long. He should just sign the damn thing. 

"William likes you, you know," Mr. Phantomhive took a sip of water. "He'd always wondered about my sexuality. He'd never seen me with a woman and assumed me to be gay." _Are you gay, Mr. Phantomhive?_ The question haunted Adrain's mind. Why did he ask that at the interview again? Right, because he was a dumbass. 

"Not even one of the fifteen?" 

Mr. Phantomhive returned his glass to the table. "So, you remembered that. No, not even with one of the fifteen. William knows little of my personal life. I don't include Diedrich in that number. He is number zero, if you will, because his contract doesn't have a time limit as the others did. William does know of Diedrich but nothing of that secret room of mine. He just assumes Diedrich is a butler that I have sex with." 

"You know, Mister Crevan," Mr. Phantomhive closed his eyes for a second, "this has been quite a bundle of firsts for me. I've never slept with anyone, especially not in my bed, let alone had sex in my personal bedroom, or even anything short of fucking. But, I had sex with you, slept in the same bed as you two times, and I still find you irresistible," Mr. Phantomhive pointed his long index finger at Adrian. 

"Have you really never had sex without that room of yours?" Adrian took a bite out of his buttered bread roll. 

"In a sense," Mr. Phantomhive's eyes clouded over, the most fog Adrian had ever seen on them. "The woman that gave birth to me," he paused, unsure of if he should continue, "when I reached thirteen years of age she tied me to my bed and forced herself onto me. I spent three years of my life tied to that bed. Every day I gnawed at the rope swearing to myself I'd break free eventually. And, I did, that woman went to jail and I went to live with William's family." 

"What I do is not normal, by any means," Mr. Phantomhive confessed. "A normal person's game of bondage has limitations. Safewords. Restrictions. I, on the other hand, have a pit of darkness lurking within me. A thirteen-year-old boy locked in a cage seeking revenge. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to run a thousand miles in the other direction and cut off all ties with me forever." Mr. Phantomhive sighed. He ate silently for the remainder of the dinner. 

"My father," Adrian paused, bringing his hand to his facial scar, "was a sadist beyond all means. He cut me up under the excuse of 'science.' My mother died when I was young. I didn't experience the horror you did, Mr. Phantomhive, but each person has their own scars. I'm just glad you found me worthy enough to share them with." 

"Vincent," Mr. Phantomhive rested his hand on his chin. "You can call me 'Vincent.' I don't care anymore if you sign or don't sign, but I do think I want to keep you in my life, Adrian," he smiled, the purest smile Adrian had ever seen on his face. That's a smile Adrian had to snap a picture of, frame, and cherish for the rest of his life. Must protect that smile. 

...

"What the fuck do you want, Ronald?" Adrian growled into the phone. He hadn't forgotten about the little escapade at the bar. 

"I know. I'm sorry. I thought I could change your mind if I kissed you or something," Ronald sighed. 

"Bitch, the fuck? Sexual harassment is not the way into a girl's heart," Grell snapped. "Get your mind on the right sight of the road, sweet cheeks," Grell flipped her hair and walked away, leaving Adrian to talk on speakerphone alone. He hated holding phones by his ears. It was just too intimate for some reason. 

"I'm sorry," Ronald sobbed. Cue Adrian's guilty conscience. He didn't like making people upset, even when they clearly deserved it. 

"Ronald, you're like a younger brother but you're also a pain in my ass sometimes. I'm not interested in you like that. How many times are you going to make me say it?" Adrian sighed. "Besides, you have a crush on Grell, don't you? Not me. Just because we both have long hair doesn't mean we are the same person, Ronald," Adrian sighed again. 

"Does this mean you're with _him_ now?" 

Adrian's face flushed at the mere thought. "That's none of your business." 

"You spent the night with him though...it's not about the money, right?"

"Still none of your business. Besides, who is the one that let me go home with a complete stranger? Instead of getting your dick hard you could've been helping me out." Adrian gritted his teeth. "If anything did happen, not that it did, it would've been partially your fault." 

"I'm sorry." Adrian heard his sniffles. Guilt was, and always will be, a bitch. 

"Yeah, I get that. I'm a bit salty and I have a right to be salty," Adrian sighed for the...third time? He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back on the couch. "Let's have coffee or something...maybe." 

"Do you mean it?" 

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it, but I still have to think about it, Ronnie dear," Adrian hung up. He couldn't handle any more of _that_ right now. Ronald and Vincent. Two very different types of people but they both seemed interested in him. One was annoying, the other...a complete dreamboat. _It's not about the money, right?_ That question got on Adrian's nerves. Of course it wasn't about the money. Vincent Phantomhive could be a broke painter selling shit on the side of the street and he'd still be the sexiest being in existence. 

Painter Phantomhive, damn. The thought of Vincent Phantomhive with a paintbrush and a canvas... _sexy_. Wait, that could actually happen, couldn't it? Didn't he say that he painted that one thing in his office on the day of the interview? Gods, how long ago was that? "I'd like to be painted on..." Adrian mumbled. Great, Vincent wasn't anywhere in the room and Adrian was already turned on. His intense smoldering stare...the moonlight shining on him...was there anything about that man that wasn't unbelievably sexy? Fuck it all. It can't just be about the sex, right? Up until a few nights ago, Adrian hadn't even had sex. What was it then? What was it about Mr. Phantomhive? 

Adrian couldn't stop thinking about how Vincent played the piano. The overbearing sadness of it. He'd spent three years of his life tied to a bed, sexually abused by his own mother. _The woman that gave birth to me_... He didn't even think of her as his mother. Adrian could understand that. Vincent was a man clearly fucked in the head, with good reason. "Perhaps I shouldn't sign the contract," Adrian mumbled under his breath. He wanted to, for personal reasons, but for Vincent's sake, he probably shouldn't. Maybe there was something he could do to help that beautiful man. 

For the good of the cause, Adrian made a decision. He'd have to teach the control freak that it was okay not to be in control of all things. Adrian was a person. He had his own mind. He wasn't a doll. 

He picked up the giant contract and wandered to his room. Time to actually read this shit. He sat on his bed and sighed. Reading books was a walk in the park. This wasn't a book. Maybe if he pretended it was it would be easier to read. Nope. Not really. Books have characters and hidden meanings. This was just a pile of paper. 

"Consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract..." Adrian read aloud. Sometimes that helped him process things he didn't want to read. This wasn't a legally binding contract. It was just for Mr. Phantomhive's peace of mind. In order for him to know that even if he lost control, the other party had already known the rules, the dangers, and everything else that might happen. 

There was a series of redundant statements. The bottom line was: the individual that signs this contract was agreeing to obey, under any circumstances, the words that escape Mr. Phantomhive's mouth. Do or be punished. Adrian, at the core of his being, wanted to be punished by Mr. Phantomhive. This went against his earlier decision not to be controlled by the control freak. To sign or not to sign, that was the question. Vincent had already said he wouldn't touch Adrian unless he signed. 

"Oh, wait," Adrain snickered. He pressed his index finger to his lip and laid down on his bed. He stared at the ceiling. "He said that once before and then he kissed me in the elevator. Mr. Phantomhive wants me just as badly as I want him. He said that, didn't he? So..." Adrian's eyes gleamed a mischevious smirk. There we go. That was the solution. "I just have to make him want me so bad he loses control again. The control freak without control..." Adrian raised his hands up towards the light on his ceiling. He laughed. "I wonder what kind of face Vincent would make. I can help him after all, can't I? It's impossible to control another person completely..." 

There were two things that were most appealing about the contract. The first being that the individual signing could not enter in any sexual relations outside of Mr. Phantomhive (not that Adrian would dream of it, of course). The second being that Mr. Phantomhive would not enter any sexual relations outside of the individual signing. That was the one thing Adrian wished he could have. All relationships have risks. He just hoped Mr. Phantomhive was just as obsessed with him as he was with Mr. Phantomhive. How to test that? How to test that indeed...

"To sign or not to sign, that is the question, damnit. I want Mr. Phantomhive as my master. I want to be dealt with as he pleases..." Adrian sighed and rolled over on his back. He stared at his phone and sent a text to the man. Time to test the theory.

 _It was nice knowing you, Mr. Phantomhive_. Send. He did it. He really did it. He wasn't being serious. He just wanted a reaction. Vincent wanted to keep him in his life...but to what extent? Adrian's anxiety overflowed. Fuck. He shouldn't have done that. What if he didn't do anything? What if this was how it all ended? Adrian you dumbass. You should've thought of a different way to test this. Shit. No. No. Calm down. Vincent said he wanted you himself. Trust that. Trust. Ugh. Adrian hated trusting things. 

"Good evening, Adrian," a cool voice landed on Adrian's ears. He turned to look at his door. He blinked. What the fuck? Ask and ye shall receive, apparently. Vincent was standing right there. How did he get in? Wasn't Grell home? Oh, no, of course not. She had a date with William, didn't she? Shit. _How did he get in?_ Didn't he still live like who knows how far? Adrian hadn't moved to his city yet. The Manor. Fuck. He was still staying there, wasn't he? Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Adrian could talk big when he didn't have to face consequences of face to face interaction. Now he was absolutely quaking. The biggest issue with not signing the contract was that, at his core, he really wanted to. Vincent could totally talk him into it with just a simple sentence. Control, Adrian, control yourself before thinking about breaking Mr. Phantomhive's cold exterior. 

"I believed that your message warranted a reply in person," Vincent adjusted the glove on his hand and resumed eye contact. "'It was nice knowing me.' In what way, may I ask? How was it _nice_ knowing me? We barely know each other. Aside from a few conversations and a sexual encounter. How was it _nice_? Do you mean in the biblical sense?" 

Vincent took a step forward. He was close, too close, and Adrian desperately wanted him. His heart was pounding. He felt that pull, that magnetic attraction. He leaned forward, undoing Adrian's lose braid. His hair fell. He ran his gloved fingers through it. Adrian's breathing was erratic. Hard to focus. Even harder to remain calm. He moved back. He laid down. He just wanted to get away from Vincent but in the end, lying down was a mistake. He should've stayed upright. Now he was underneath him, on his bed, his arms outstretched and held above his head. Shit. He squirmed. Vincent was touching him. Vincent said that he wouldn't touch him. Now he was. Adrian's plan worked a bit too well. Shit. 

He blinked and Vincent's tongue was in his mouth. He claimed Adrian as his own without a second thought. Adrian's heart squirmed with delight. He wanted him. Vincent Phantomhive, the man that could have anyone in the world, and he wanted _him_. Not one of the fifteen. Adrian. He wanted _Adrian_. Vincent stopped the kiss. Adrian opened his eyes. He hadn't realized himself that he'd closed them. His lips were still parted. His breathing pattern was even worse. He could feel the heat on his cheeks and the mess his hair had become. 

Vincent removed one of his hands keeping Adrian's in place and removed his tie. The one he was wearing. A silver-gray silk tie. One that would leave light marks on Adrain's skin. Fuck. He fastened Adrian's wrists together with this tie, making sure to leave enough of it to tie Adrian to the headboard. Adrian couldn't escape. It aroused him. That was easy to see. He shifted underneath Vincent. Vincent got off of the bed. 

"Stop moving your legs or I'll tie them too. If you make a noise, Adrian, I'll gag you. Keep quiet," Vincent's voice still cold. His expression was even colder. Adrian shivered. Gag him. Gag him please, why don't you? Vincent might look cold but Adrian couldn't be hotter at the moment. 

Vincent removed Adrian's pants, undergarment, and rolled up his shirt to cover Adrian's eyes. "Is this _nice_ , Adrian?" Vincent asked. Adrian couldn't see him. Adrian could only hear him. He heard him move around the room. He heard him pick up things and put them back down. He heard him undress. Adrian might cum from anticipation if this kept up. The longer Vincent refrained from doing anything the more Adrian imagined what he _might_ do. 

"I think I'll get a drink," Vincent announced. Adrian heard the door open. A drink? Like, wine? Or like, water? Adrian frowned. Now he was naked, hard, and unable to do anything about it from these tight bonds. He couldn't break them. He shifted and he tugged but he couldn't break them. What was this tie made out of? Iron will?

The door opened. Vincent was back. "Are you thirsty, Adrian?" he asked. Adrian nodded. He could hear the ice in the glass of the mystery liquid Vincent held shift. Lips. Vincent's lips. What was this sickeningly sweet taste? Was it Vincent or the drink in his mouth? Strawberry...strawberry milk? Had to be. "Is this _nice_?" he asked again. Strawberry milk escaped Adrian's mouth and trailed down his cheek. Vincent's tongue against his skin, licking it up. That was nice. Adrian shivered. That really was nice. 

Vincent poured some of the liquid onto Adrian's stomach. His navel filled with the sickeningly sweet scent of strawberries. "You'll have to stay still, Adrian, or you'll get liquid all over your nice new sheets." How did he know these were new? Control freak and a stalker. Adrian quivered, almost losing the ice cube and the milk. 

"If you spill, I'll punish you, Mister Crevan," Vincent said. Adrian's hips flexed automatically. Oh, please do, punish him, why don't you? "Hm, you like that, do you? How about this then...if you spill the milk, I won't let you come." The devil. This man was the devil. Adrian tried his best to remain still. 

"Mr. Phantomhive, Sir, please..." 

"Please what?" 

"Please fuck me, Sir," Adrian requested. 

"Would that be _nice_?" Adrian could hear the laughter in his voice. He really should've chosen better phrasing for his demands. Shit. Adrian felt fingers trace his entrance. They were covered in something, an unknown liquid, perhaps lotion, perhaps lube, Adrian didn't care. Vincent's hands were still gloved. Was he still wearing that three-piece suit of his too? No, he had taken off some clothes, hadn't he? Adrian wanted to see. Adrian wanted to touch him. He pulled at the tie keeping him hostage. He shifted his head, trying to move the shirt on his face. 

"Shall I fuck you, Adrian? You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Vincent laughed, actually laughed. Music to Adrian's ears. He laughed, for once, instead of simply speaking in that amused fashion of his. 

"I'm sorry, Sir, please fuck me. I didn't mean it, I promise, Sir, how could I? Look at me. I want you so bad, Mr. Phantomhive. My body is shaking so terribly..." Adrian inhaled sharply when Vincent entered him. He couldn't see a thing but he could feel that dick inside him, tormenting his insides. Adrian came multiple times as Vincent moved, unable to hold back his intense need for this man. 

He lay, panting on his bed, as Vincent pulled out and undid his bonds. Adrian smirked, sitting up with his last remaining strength, allowing his shirt to fall off of his face, and wrapped his arms around Vincent's neck. "That was very nice, indeed, Mr. Phantomhive," he said, staring into those deep grey voids. He watched carefully to discern his reaction. 

"I hate that word. It doesn't do it for me in the slightest," Vincent replied. 

"It seemed to have a beneficial effect on you." 

"Could you wound my ego any further, Mister Crevan?" Vincent removed Adrian's arms from his neck. Vincent doesn't like being touched. Why? 

"I can't sign your contract, Vincent," Adrian confessed at last. 

"Oh? Is that so? Such a shame our physical relationship will end," Vincent looked away, towards the window, why? 

"No, no, that's not what I mean. I want more than just your body, Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian grabbed the glass of strawberry milk and poured it on Vincent's head. He watched as it trailed down his hair, onto his neck, and then to his clothes. Sexy. He ran his hand through Vincent's (now sticky) hair. He watched as the man flinched at his touch. He doesn't like being touched. Too bad. 

"My suit," was all Vincent said, frowning. He was more concerned about his clothes than the touch. Good. No. Wait. Maybe he was distracting himself from the touch by worrying about his clothes. Hm. 

"It's a shame, Mr. Phantomhive, that you don't know any rich individuals willing to pay for a new suit," Adrian snickered, biting Vincent's ear. He gasped. Oh. He _gasped_. Vincent tried to control his breathing. No, no, Mr. Phantomhive, you aren't allowed to worry about control anymore. Adrian reached up to unbutton Vincent's suit jacket. Can't have him smelling like strawberry milk forever. 

"What are you scheming, Adrian? Do you really have so much stamina?" confused Vincent was a nice Vincent but he wasn't trying to get away from Adrian and that was the best part. 

"Why don't you like being touched?" Adrian asked. He unbuttoned the vest, sliding it off of Vincent's body. He licked the side of Vincent's face, enjoying the sweet taste of strawberry milk. 

"I just don't," Vincent inhaled sharply. 

"Oh? Because it seems to me that you do," Adrian smiled. He got one button down on Vincent's shirt before his wrist was grabbed. He flinched. His wrist was still sore from being bound. 

"I don't like being touched, Adrian," his voice firm. His eyes dark, blinded, all of his walls were thoroughly rebuilt. Adrian had made a fatal mistake. 

"Why?" he decided this would be the last time he asked, for today. Vincent gritted his teeth. 

"Why do you want more than just my body? What do you mean by that? Are you after my money? My fame? Are you like everyone else, Mister Crevan?" Vincent's lack of expression told Adrian all he needed to know about how he felt. Vincent was the most formal in the times he felt the most things. He was distant, trying to contain himself, Adrian noticed this fact. This was the perfect time to drop the bomb. Or the worst time. Either way, he would say it.

"I want your heart, Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian shook off Vincent's hand and grabbed his shirt, right above his heart, he smiled as the walls crumbled. Vincent, the real Vincent, revealed a bit of his true self. Adrian was privileged to this sight. 

Vincent moved back, forgetting that he was on the edge of the bed. He fell to the ground, Adrian fell too, refusing to let go of his shirt. Vincent breathed heavily. "What?" He was terrified, shocked, confused, any number of emotions. Adrian couldn't catch all of them. 

"I want your heart, Mr. Phantomhive."

"That doesn't make any sense," Vincent shifted uncomfortably underneath Adrian. "What would you do with my heart? I need it to pump blood or I'll die." 

Adrian snorted. "Not literally. I want you to live, Mr. Phantomhive. I want your love and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance." 

"I don't understand," Vincent looked more confused as time passed. Hm, one day he would, maybe. 

"That's okay, you don't have to," Adrian nodded. 

"I," Vincent looked away for a moment then returned to staring at Adrian. "I was bound for three years against my will. That woman...she touched me a thousand different ways. I don't like being touched, Adrian. Sometimes, as much as I hate to admit it, I enjoyed what she did," a dark shadow cast itself over Vincent's face. He was opening up, explaining this to Adrian. The pieces of the puzzle were coming together. Vincent tied people up to release a bit of his frustration. Frustration towards himself, for enjoying binding them as that woman bound him, and towards others, for having it done to them in pleasing circumstances. 

"Have you told anyone about this?" Adrian asked, he couldn't help it. 

"Diedrich," Vincent confessed. Part of Adrian was insanely jealous. He stood up, gritted his teeth, and got dressed. Vincent sat up, running his hand through his hair, cringing at the sticky quality of milk. 

"That bastard," Adrian growled, biting his nail. 

"Are you jealous, Mister Crevan?" Vincent placed his hand on Adrian's shoulder, shifting his body towards him. "Diedrich may have been the first person I confided in, but you have a number of firsts in your possession as well, or did you forget?" Ah, that was true. 

"I have to leave, I apologize," Mr. Phantomhive grabbed his clothing and nearly crossed the threshold of the door. Adrian clung to his arm. 

"Will you have dinner with me on Wednesday?" 

"Adrian, what are you doing to me?" Vincent asked, but didn't refuse.

Adrian smiled, "I could say the same to you." 


	10. Chapter Ten

Adrian got his best piece of clothing. More correct to say that he got Grell's most masculine pieces of clothing and put them together. Because he had no good clothes of his own. It was sad. He braided his fringe and bobby pinned it to the side of his head. He wore limited make-up, just utilizing what Grell had in the bathroom. His hair flowed freely down his back. He had a vest, of some sort, on his body. An open button-up. Nice slacks.

"Hot damn, you clean up nicely," Grell whistled as she leaned up against the bathroom's doorway.

"Hot?" Adrian blinked. He was trying to be hot, in a way, but not like too hot. He didn't want to outshine anyone. Not that he could, of course, but still.

Grell nodded, "Fucking sexy."

"Wish me luck," Adrian sighed.

"You need luck on a date?" Grell rolled her eyes. "Fine, I wish you luck."

"Thanks."

...

Vincent leaned against the bar's counter. His elbows rested lightly on the tabletop. He sipped a glass of white wine. Adrian stared, longingly, at that beautiful man. His hair was smoothed back with gell, not with the typical Vincent fringe. It would seem that the two of them put on their best clothes. How was it possible for Vincent to appear _sexier_? The gods must love him. Adrian admired the view for a few seconds. Vincent glanced at the door, where Adrian stood, and blinked a couple of times upon seeing Adrian. He smiled a slow, sexy, smile that made it impossible for Adrian to breathe.

Adrian took a step forward, a few steps, he glided to the bar and sat next to Vincent. He leaned his head on his hand and smirked. "You look stunning," Adrian confessed. Vincent smiled, a bit, and took another sip from his glass.

"I should be saying that to you, my dear," Vincent cocked his head to the side, smiling wider. "Would you care for a drink? They have an excellent wine cellar here."

"I'll have what you're having." Adrian didn't know the first thing about wine. He didn't want to sound like an idiot. Vincent nodded. He outstretched his glass.

"Have a sip, my dear," Vincent offered. Adrian tried his best not to blush. He remembered the strawberry milk incident. The wine would taste so much better from Vincent's lips. He forced the thought away, grabbing the glass, taking a small sip.

"Are you nervous?" Vincent inquired.

"Was it that obvious?"

"Hm? No, not at all. In fact, I think you're hiding it quite well." Vincent grabbed Adrian's hand as he stood. "Come with me," he said, dragging Adrian to the balcony. This place was a bit fancier than Adrian was used to. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His only comfort was the way Vincent looked under the moon's light. Stunning, as usual.

"Are you going to enlighten me as to why you invited me to dinner?" Vincent asked, folding his napkin into a crane.

"It started out as me inviting you but somehow we ended up with you taking me out," Adrian sighed. "Part of your controlling atmosphere, I presume?"

"Not quite, I just have a habit of enjoying fine dining," Vincent stared into Adrian's eyes as he licked his lips. Something inside Adrian stirred. Fine dining, right, was Adrian on the menu? Perhaps he should check...

"In any case, is your decision on the contract completely set in stone? You really won't sign? No matter how much I tempt you?" Vincent picked up a piece of silverware. He stared at it, closely, checking for blemishes no doubt.

"You don't need a contract to have your way with me, Vincent," Adrian confirmed. "I think you've already come to terms with that fact. Did you forget already what I told you? I want more than just your body."

"So you've said," Vincent placed the item back in its rightful spot. "Relationships, between two people, require a bit of trust and honesty. Although I don't particularly enjoy lying, I'm not entirely truthful in anything that I do. I have a multitude of issues, Mister Crevan. I'm really not the man for you..."

"I believe that is for me to decide, Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian gritted his teeth. He was tired of hearing the same thing over and over. Either this was going to happen or it wasn't. Vincent needed to stop pushing him away. He'd already seen the worst, or, mostly the worst. He was prepared for anything at this point.

"It's a simple decision, really, do you trust me or not?" Adrian frowned. There it was again. That darkness, that shadow, that inability to feel. Mr. Phantomhive would not relinquish control of anything he dug his hands into. "Let me rephrase that, do you _want_ to trust me?"

"I think it would be quite enjoyable, really, if I could trust you."

"Then it's settled," Adrian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Let's start this relationship."

"If you insist on calling it that, I cannot stop you, I suppose," Vincent sighed. "However, if I ever do take you into that room of mine, you must promise to abide by the rules listed in the contract. And, of course, if at any point of time you are overwhelmed by me, feel free to walk away, Adrain. I won't stop you. I won't chase after you. But, that's it, and we will have nothing to do with each other."

"I thought you wanted to keep me in your life, contract or not."

"Oh, I do, but I also know my limits, Mister Crevan," Vincent folded his hands. "So, I'm warning you now. I've been warning you all of this time and you're still clinging onto me. I hope, for your sake, that man of your dreams that you claimed I was...is truly the man I am. Please don't be disappointed with the truth, my dear."

"I'm quite certain of my dreams, Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian tapped the table lightly with his fingers. Vincent was so passionate. Adrian was unable to cease staring at him.

"There is a very fine line between pleasure and pain when I'm involved, Adrian," Vincent sighed, looking off the balcony and down at the people below. "Pleasure becomes pain. Pain becomes pleasure. Sometimes, it's pleasurable pain." Vincent returned his gaze to Adrian. He stared at him, deep into his soul, searching for something, an answer to a question he hadn't asked yet. "I want all of your pleasure, Mister Crevan. I want to consume you to my heart's content. I don't want to share you. I don't want you with anyone else. I don't want you touching yourself. I'm a dangerous and jealous man, Mister Crevan. This is my last warning," he stood up, leaned over the table, and grabbed Adrian's throat with both of his gloved hands. "Are you certain you want to eat the apple, Eve?"

Adrian stared into those eyes. The magnetic feeling returning to him. He was drawn to this man, he always would be. Even now, as the richest man in the universe choked him, he wasn't afraid. He couldn't breathe but he wasn't afraid. He wanted him. Right now. If he was fucked in the center of this restaurant he'd be pleased without concern. They were oh so compatible. Why didn't Vincent see that? One day, of course, he'd make him see.

"'Is this the right thing to do? Should this happen here? Can it happen now? How can he seduce me with just his voice? How can he tell that I want him here?'" Vincent repeated the questions Adrian had only asked in his mind. "I can tell. Your body, I've gotten good at reading it," Vincent tightened his grasp around Adrian's neck. "You're pressing your thighs together, you're flushed, your breathing changed just before I grabbed your neck. You're hopelessly infatuated with me, darling, it's honestly a problem for you, isn't it?"

Vincent sat back down. He'd released his grasp on Adrian's neck as the waiter came in with the food. Adrian gasped, panting, trying to catch his breath. He held his hand on his throat, rubbing his neck, checking to make sure his head was still attached. "The problem is," Vincent stabbed a piece of asparagus with his fork, "I'm actually infatuated with you too. This has never happened to me before." Vincent sucked on the asparagus after licking his lips. Adrian swallowed. He couldn't stop staring. Vincent bit off the tip. Adrian winced.

Adrian grabbed the sides of the table. He leaned forward, a bit, trying to keep himself from getting noticeably hard. He growled, glaring at Vincent, and said something he'd never expected to say. "The only problem here is how deeply I want to tie you to my bed and keep you locked away, Mr. Phantomhive. I want you for myself but you're the richest man in the universe and I can't have you exclusively. You don't have a submissive bone in your delectable body, which is fine, by all means, but it makes me all the more fucking turned on and I have no idea what to do about it."

"Do you want to touch me?" Vincent brought his hand to his neck, running it down his chest. Adrian gripped the table harder. "Do you want to run your hand through my hair?" Vincent moved his hand to his hair, pushing back the strands that fell out of the gell's alignment. "Do you want to be allowed to scream my name as I press myself into you?" Vincent's lips curled upward in a sadistic grin. His eyes gleaming with euphoria upon Adrian's strained expression. "Ah, yes, that's it, public decency is holding you back." Vincent placed his hand on his cheek, sadistic grin only getting wider.

Frustration tears streamed down Adrian's face. He explained everything. Vincent wanted him. He wanted Vincent. Adrian wanted him to like him. Adrian wanted him to need him in the same way. Deep down, he didn't know if it was possible. He was doubting himself. Another one of his many talents. Would they be boyfriends? Husbands? Significant others at any point in time? Would Vincent open up to him more? Or shut down completely? Vincent won't let him touch him. Vincent fucked, he didn't make love. Vincent didn't sleep with people. Adrian had no idea what to do. His mind was swarming with thoughts and he couldn't shift through any of them. The thought of never seeing Vincent again was beyond terrible. He couldn't walk away. Not now. Not ever. What was he going to do? What should he do?

Vincent was pushing him to his limit. He was making him doubt himself. This was his test. This was a part of his weird way of warning. Adrian held his breath. He didn't know the best course of action so he forced himself to pass out. Fade to black...


	11. Chapter Eleven

Vincent stood over Adrian whilst holding a plaited leather riding crop. He smiled down. He flicked the riding crop slowly in his palm as he gazed down at Adrain. His smile looking more and more mischievous as time continued. Adrian couldn't move. He was naked, exposed, shackled, his legs spread wide apart with Vincent in between them. Vincent placed the crop on Adrian's forehead, trailing it down his nose, into Adrian's parted mouth. Adrian sucked. He tasted the leather on his tongue. Sinful and nutritious. 

Vincent pulled the crop out of Adrian's mouth and moved it down and under his chin. He lifted Adrian's head slightly, before trailing it down his body to his lower regions. Adrian panted. Adrian squirmed. Vincent flicked the crop against Adrian's dick. Adrian moaned. 

"What do you want from me, Adrain?" 

"I want to be fucked by you." Another slap against his skin. 

"What was that?"

"I want to be fucked by you, _Sir_ ," Adrian corrected. 

"That's what I thought." Vincent moved the riding crop up and down Adrian's cock. In a repeated motion, stroking him, Adrian bit his lower lip. 

"Stop biting your lip," Vincent grabbed Adrian's dick firmly. "I won't let you come unless you stop." Adrian stopped. "That's a good boy..."

...

Adrian woke up. There was a liquid on his sheets. A wet dream? No. Impossible. Holy hell. What the fuck? Why did that happen? Adrian ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly confused. 

"What did you dream about, I wonder?" Vincent's voice. Adrian turned his head sharply. He made eye contact with the man himself and then promptly covered his face in his hands. He couldn't stop thinking about the dream. The leather. Vincent would look so hot wearing leather. Fuck. He might get hard again. Shit. Stop. 

"You're biting your lip again," Vincent growled. "It makes me want to fuck you. But, you haven't even asked where you are, why you're here, what happened last night, and why I'm right next to you. So. I'll answer all those questions now. You passed out. I flew you back to my place. Not the place in The Manor. No, my place, via the helicopter. I was too concerned to sleep in my own bed so I ended up sleeping beside you, only to wake up to the sound of your moans. Sure beats an alarm clock. Now, answer my question. What did you dream about?" 

Adrian shook his head. "I can't tell you." 

"It's taking all of my self-control not to fuck you right now but goddamnit, Adrian, what did you dream about?" 

Adrian hid his face in his hands and rolled over so that his back was facing Vincent. "I had a dream about you, of course," he muttered. The words caught by his own hands on his face. It would be a miracle if Vincent heard them. 

His fingers pressed against the fabric of Adrian's shirt. He slid his hands down, grabbing the end, and pulling Adrian's shirt up to his shoulders. Adrian felt Vincent's mouth between his shoulder blades. "What did you dream about?" he asked again. Vincent's hands slid down Adrian's back, gently, and underneath his pants. They moved from his ass to his front, groping him. Adrian pulled his shirt off completely. His hips pressed forward into Vincent's hand. 

"I dreamed about you, Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian looked over his shoulder and down at Vincent's face. He could feel Vincent smiling into his back. Vincent grabbed Adrian's wrist, moving his hand down and back. Vincent pressed Adrian's hand against his own erection. 

"This is the effect you have on me, Mister Crevan," his eyes filled with amusement. "Face me, turn around." Adrian did so. He faced Vincent. He tried his best to keep from playing with that blue hair or feeling firsthand those mighty fine abs. Vincent moved Adrian's hair behind his ear. He ran his hands along Adrian's chest, tracing scars, content with the view. It wasn't fair. Adrian wanted to touch him too. 

"Do you want to touch me?" Vincent teased as he continued to touch Adrian's chest. "Do you want me to be inside you?" he tugged at the waistband of Adrian's pants. "I'll let you, for today. Ride me. You'll be in control, for once, perhaps just this once. My apology for last night's dinner. Do you want to get me back for how I teased you?" God, yes, Adrian would love that. The possibilities. Vincent laid on his back. Adrian climbed on top of him. He sat on his legs, staring down at his erection hidden by the pants. He gently pressed his fingers against the waistband, pulling down, only for the door to open. He stopped. 

"Mr. Phantomhive," Diedrich's voice. That cockblock. "Your mother is on the line. She has urgent news." Adrian didn't care how _urgent_ the news was. His budding relationship with Mr. Phantomhive was about to begin. They were finally getting somewhere. Damn demon Diedrich. Get the fuck out. 

"That's rare. Is everything okay?" Vincent sat up. Adrian gritted his teeth in frustration. The _one_ time he was going to have his way with Vincent and this blasted Diedrich had to ruin the moment. What could _possibly_ be so important? "Don't just stand there bring me the damn phone, Diedrich," Vincent snapped. Adrian shuffled off of him. Vincent swung his feet over the edge of the bed with his arm outstretched waiting for that cursed piece of technology that ruined intimate moments: the phone. Diedrich returned. 

"Phantomhive," he answered. So, he always answered like that even when it was his mother? 

"Is that so?" Vincent's eyes clouded over. His face was the palest Adrian had ever seen. "Thank you for telling me." He stared at the phone in his hand. He threw it at Diedrich. It grazed his face, hitting the wall behind him. He didn't look to see if Diedrich had been hit or not. He didn't look at Adrian either. He stared out the window in this room. He placed his hand over his mouth. "Leave," he ordered, sharply, "both of you." 

Adrian and Diedrich exited the room. Diedrich closed the door. The two males stared awkwardly at each other. Each of them hating the other. Diedrich grabbed Adrian's hand and dragged him into the spare bedroom. He threw him onto the bed and promptly handcuffed him to the backboard. 

"I don't know who you are or what you're playing at by trying to get closer to Mr. Phantomhive," Diedrich glared. "But you don't know the first thing about him. You should stop trying so hard to get close to him. He is vulnerable. He is hurt. And he is fifty shades of fucked-up." 

"So are you," Adrian pulled his wrists against the cuffs. "You just handcuffed a person you don't even know to a bed. How do you know Vincent won't have your head for this?" 

"Don't call him that!" Diedrich snarled. He looked like an angry watchdog. "You aren't close enough to him to call him by his name." 

"Are you sure you aren't just talking about yourself?" Adrian tried to free himself of his bonds once again. Diedrich placed handcuffs on his ankles too. Immobile. No amount of wiggling around would free him. This man was a fucked-up crazy piece of shit. And that's saying something. Because apparently, Adrian's type is fucked-up crazy pieces of shit. Diedrich wasn't the least bit attractive. Vincent must be a special case.

"I'm sure you're thinking I'm crazy. But, I'm only trying to protect Mr. Phantomhive. I'm the only one that understands him. What you're feeling right now, the anger inside of you," Diedrich placed his hand on his chest, "Mr. Phantomhive did this to me. You think _I'm_ crazy. This is just a fraction of what he is. You've never been inside that room with him. You don't know the amount of sanity he has lost. And, it's only getting worse. Especially with that phone call." Diedrich closed his eyes for a moment. He inhaled. He exhaled. He opened his eyes. 

"I apologize to you if you think I'm some possessive stalker to Mr. Phantomhive. But, I assure you, I'm trying to protect _you_ just as much as I'm trying to protect _him_. He told me that he told you of his birth mother and he didn't know why. He is open to you, for reasons unknown to him, and it's confusing him at a time where he must be most concerned about himself." 

Diedrich pulled up a chair and sat by the bed. He stared Adrian in the eyes, searching out his emotions. "That woman, the one who gave birth to him, you know that he was bound to a bed for three years of his life. He was bound like this, Adrian Crevan. For three years. He still has some scarring around his wrists and ankles from struggling so hard against the cuffs. Three years of not being able to move. Not being able to leave a certain room. Being starved to the brink of death but unable to leave this world. Forced to pee in a can or take a shit in a bowl. That woman watching his every move. Telling him how much he looked like his father. Then touching his thirteen-year-old self in unspeakable ways."

 _I don't like to be touched_. Adrian couldn't imagine it. He was bound right now and it was unbearable. But, for three years? He wouldn't remain sane. Diedrich sighed. He got up and he left the room. Adrian closed his eyes, trying to imagine something more pleasant. His wrists were bound. He couldn't touch himself, not that he would, Vincent wouldn't like that. His dick was still hard and his dignity lost. What else was new?

What would the scene before have looked like? Should he have been allowed to continue? Adrian thought about it. He thought about Vincent underneath him. He thought about taking off his pants, staring down at his erection, and sliding himself onto it. He thought about what Vincent would look like with a flushed face. His hips moving involuntarily as Adrian glided up and down his cock. He thought about touching Vincent. His bare chest. His hair. Vincent moaning underneath him. Yes. What a sight and he'd never see it. He wanted to fuck him. He wanted to be in charge. He wanted Vincent to be his. He wanted to be Vincent's. 

Dangerous thoughts crossed Adrian's mind as he laid there with his limbs tied. He imagined, for just a moment, Vincent being tied and locked away for his and only his consumption. He felt guilty for thinking about it. He hated himself for just the thought. He started to understand the feelings of _that_ woman. He cried. He cried from the guilt he felt for even _imagining_. The things she must've done. He shook his head. He tried to stop thinking about it but images upon images of the poor young Mr. Phantomhive kept appearing in his mind. The more he tried to stop it the more he thought about it. The more he cried. 

"So, this is what he has done to you," Vincent walked over to the bed. He sat on it. He didn't move to release Adrian in any way. He just sat there. He stared at Adrian's face. "You're crying," Vincent sighed. He reached out to wipe away Adrian's tears but refrained from touching him. He stared at Adrian, likely not seeing the silver-haired wonder, but himself. "The more I look at you like this the more I realize that I'm not so different from her..." Vincent said. His voice but a whisper. "I can understand the want and need to hold someone captive. At least, if that someone were you," Vincent placed his hand on Adrian's face. He got onto the bed, placing his legs on either side of Adrian. He stared down at his face, forehead close to his, staring into his eyes. 

"I'm a fucked-up man, Mister Crevan. I want to hurt you. I want to fuck you very quick and very hard and watch as you sob beneath me from the pain of it. I want to give you more scars, Mister Crevan. I want to cut open your skin and watch you bleed, my impression left on you forever. I want you to be mine and mine alone." His voice was soft. Menacing. Adrian felt a mixture of fear and desire. Afraid and slightly turned on. This was an issue. Vincent laid down on Adrian. He rested his head on Adrian's chest. His body shook with the effects of his sobbing tears. Mr. Phantomhive wasn't the type of man to cry. Adrian could feel his chest wet. He was crying. Impossible.

"Why am I like this, Mister Crevan? Why do I want to hurt you? I don't know myself. I've told myself multiple times _not_ to become anything like that woman. I've rejected this blood of mine countless times. But, I still have her name as my own. I never became a Spears. I'm still a Phantomhive. I still have blue hair. I still look like my father. I still sleep at night seeing images of her on top of me." Vincent pressed his face into Adrian's chest, hiding his sobbing self completely. 

"I am my mother's son, Mister Crevan." He lifted his head, devoid of anything. Those deep voids of eyes were deeper still. Adrian was afraid. Afraid of those voids. This was the man Vincent had been trying to hold back. Adrian understood the reason for the Mr. Hyde quote at this moment. Vincent placed his hand on Adrian's chest. He rubbed the tears away. This would be the first and the last time Adrian ever heard Vincent call that woman his 'mother.'

"Stop it," Adrian's voice barely audible. "Not like this. Stop it, Vincent." 

"You're afraid of me, of what I might do, even though you seemed so confident before," Vincent's hollow eyes reminded Adrian of how he played the piano. Sad. Melancholic. Rejected. Hurt. 

"No," Adrian shifted underneath him. "That's not it. Vincent, I'm afraid of what you'll do to yourself. You're hurt. I don't know what happened in that phone call but you're hurt. You'll hurt yourself more if you touch me like this." 

Diedrich rushed back into the room. He climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Vincent. He pulled him off of Adrian. Rage. Immeasurable rage. Vincent growled. "Don't touch me," he clawed at Diedrich's hands with his nails. He made marks in the skin of Diedrich's arms. "Don't touch me," he repeated. Diedrich pulled him off of Adrian. He clung onto him tighter. 

"Mr. Phantomhive, let's go to your playroom. You can do whatever you wish to _me_. Take out as much of your anger as you wish. I am, after all, just a man you happen to fuck occasionally. However, I will _not_ allow you to touch Mr. Crevan in this state. He means more to you and does not deserve this treatment." Adrian didn't like Diedrich. Not one bit. At this moment, he began to see and understand a bit more of Diedrich's nature. He refused to like him but at least he understood him. 

"Diedrich," Vincent stopped resisting. "Don't you _ever_ refer to yourself as 'some man I happen to fuck occasionally' ever again. It infuriates me in ways you couldn't begin to fathom. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry, Diedrich." A semblance of normal, whatever that meant, returned to Vincent. He was less void and more himself. "Now, stop touching me." Diedrich reluctantly released his grasp on Vincent. The male took a few steps forward and wiped the wrinkles out of his shirt. 

"Mister Crevan," Vincent folded his hands and stared at Adrian. "Ultimate control over someone else turns me on. Big time. It's a trait I inherited honestly. You've bewitched me, of course, in ways you might never understand. But, I think for the sake of today, you should return home to your new apartment. I believe my brother and Miss Sutcliff have already finished the moving process. Diedrich will escort you," Vincent spoke calmly, with authority. He turned on his heel and exited the room. 

"Mr. Crevan," Diedrich held a key in his hand and began undoing the cuffs. "Mr. Phantomhive's birth mother is back in court. There is new 'evidence' proving her innocence. She might convince the jury of her innocence and be released from the shackles of jail. Mr. Phantomhive will not be himself until the trial has ended. Please keep this in mind." Adrian rubbed his wrists as he sat on the bed. He stared at Diedrich, unable to get a good read on him, and followed him out the door. If that woman did manage to get set free, he would be sure to murder her himself. 


	12. Chapter 12

Adrian plopped down on the bed he'd managed to rebuild. This room was a bit bigger than his previous apartment's. He sighed, nuzzling his head in the pillow. He couldn't stop thinking about Vincent Phantomhive or what he must be feeling. He took out his phone from his back pocket and stared at the number. His thumb hovered over it. Should he call? Should he keep his distance? Adrian didn't know. Luckily, he didn't have to think about it much longer.

 _Would you like to go to dinner with me and my parents?_ A text message from Vincent Phantomhive himself to Adrian. Dinner? With his parents? That seemed too magical to be true. Adrian shook his head. He didn't have anything to wear! Outside that one outfit he'd already worn from Grell...would Vincent get tired of seeing him in the same thing?

 _Do you want me to come?_ Adrian texted back.

 _I always want you to cum, Mister Crevan, but I believe that wasn't the answer you were looking for._ Adrian blushed. He shouldn't have worried about Vincent so much. Clearly he was perfectly fine. Unable to come up with a response to that, Adrian stared at his phone. _I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't want you there. Feel free to refuse. I wouldn't want to drag you anywhere against your will with my current state of mind the way it is._ Adrian frowned. Vincent was still out of sorts. The least he could do was go to dinner with his parents. His good parents. Not _that_ woman. If Adrian ever met Vincent's birth mother he could not be held accountable for his actions. He would say that as many times as he needed to make himself feel better.

 _I would be honored to have dinner with you and your parents._ Adrian replied. He got off of his ass and went over to Grell's mess of a room. "Hey, do you have any clothes?" he frowned, leaning up against the door frame. Grell had just barely gotten her bed together as well. She had her hair up in a ponytail making her look regal as ever until she frowned.

"Do you doubt my clothing? I have more clothes than you have scars, no doubt about it. Sweetie, have more faith in your darling best roommate friend," Grell rolled her eyes and sat up. She searched through boxes and found the perfect thing. "I bought this for you the other day. It's a nice black button-up so you can stop asking me for clothes. We seriously need to take you shopping, sweetie," she sighed and held it out for him to grab. "I take it you're going to dinner with us?"

"Us?"

"Will, honey, did you forget he was a part of that family? He invited me," Grell blushed at the thought. "I have to pick out a good sexy backless dress. I can't go overboard. We are meeting his parents and sister. I have to calm down. But, how can _I_ remain calm? That's a crime against humanity if I ever heard one. You'll help me choose an outfit, yes?" Grell's eyes gleamed. Adrian couldn't refuse that expression.

"Is that Phantomhive going to pick you up?" Grell asked, searching through the boxes for the right dress and heels combination. She wanted William to absolutely lose his mind upon seeing her.

"I'm not sure. I might end up just going with you and William. Sorry to be the third wheel," Adrian apologized.

"Oh no, sweetie, that won't do, are you sure you aren't getting in too deep with this Phantomhive? I know you wouldn't be after money but honestly, I'm quite worried about you. You don't seem like yourself." Nothing gets past Grell.

"Yeah," Adrian forced a smile. "I'm fine, probably."

...

"Adrian, this is my mother, father, and sister," Vincent gestured to each of them individually. He'd arrived with William at his new apartment. The four of them, Grell, Adrian, Vincent, and William, drove together to the designated location. Now they were here, at the house of the Spears'. It was a strange sensation. Completely foreign to Adrian. He wasn't rich enough to step foot here.

"Mr. and Mrs. Spears," Adrian nodded. He was wearing the black shirt as Grell had suggested. His hair was pulled back into a braid on both sides. No hiding behind fringe tonight. Vincent's sister, Francis, he believed her name was, hated hair in people's faces. Grell had given him that much information. It was because of this that Adrian was privileged to seeing Vincent's hair gelled back. It was strange but refreshing and ever so handsome.

"My name is Francis," she held out her hand to grab Adrian's. Her grip was firm. Adrian's wasn't. He tried his best but he simply wasn't that strong. "Vincent has never brought anyone over before. This is a new development." She was stern. She was serious. Everyone in the Spears family had the same expression of absolute neutrality on their face. A perfect family with perfect morals. William looked the most gentle out of all of them. Vincent, a Phantomhive, looked the most out of place. His hair color especially. Even if he looked exactly like them, there was something about his aura that you would always be able to tell he was adopted by them.

"I can't say that I've heard much about you. But, then again, Vincent never tells us a single thing," Mrs. Spears shook her head. She sat down at the table. They followed her lead. Mr. Spears had a call to take in a few minutes. He wouldn't be able to socialize long.

"William rarely speaks to us either, Mother," Francis gestured to Grell. "It's a miracle we were even told about you. You're more beautiful in person," Francis lightly smiled before her face returned back to the eternally serious Spears' expression.

"What are your plans now that you've both graduated?" Mr. Spears changed the subject.

"William is taking me to Paris," Grell smiled. "It'll be good to take a break from it all before getting back to the normal flow of life."

"Paris is lovely this time of year," Francis approved, taking a sip of her glass.

"I'm also taking a break. I'm thinking of visiting my mother in Florida," Adrian swished his water around in the glass before taking a sip. He'd forgotten the simple fact that he'd never told anyone about this until now.

"This is the first I've heard of this," Grell's mouth nearly dropped. "When were you planning on going?"

"Hm, tomorrow, late evening, probably," Adrian closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. "Yeah, that seems about right."

"Is Vincent going with you?" Mrs. Spears inquired. "There won't be a need for a plane ticket. You can use our private jet." Right. Private jets. Rich people have those.

"This is also the first I've heard of Adrian's plans," Vincent confessed. "Perhaps Adrian wished to go alone." That wasn't the case. Adrian would love to take Vincent with him. However, Vincent must be thrilled about the distance. This was a bad time for him, after all.

"Nonsense," Grell waved her hand. "Adrian hates traveling alone."

The conversation continued for a while. Mr. Spears got his phone call and left the table. Francis divulged information about her latest family struggle. She was married with two children, must be a nightmare. She kept up most of the conversation. William and Grell followed. Vincent barely spoke at all. He had this plastered look of a smile on his face the entire time. Adrian was bad with these sort of things so he didn't talk much either.

Eventually, he was outside breathing fresh air while sitting next to Vincent. The two stared out at the grass. This was a rich person's house alright. You could feel the well kept fertilized grass. It was much different.

"Were you going to tell me about the fact you were going to Florida?" Vincent asked, interrupting the uncomfortable silence between them.

"It was kind of a last-minute thing. I would've told you, yeah, I guess, I'm bad at finding the right times for this kind of stuff," Adrian sighed. "Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad at you. It's probably for the best that you're going so far away. In all honesty, I don't think us being close to each other at this time is a good idea." Vincent folded his hands and stared at them.

"Did you _really_ want to invite me to dinner with your parents?" Adrian leaned back on his hands and stared up at the stars of the night sky. "You didn't just invite me because Grell was here, right? Grell would've been pretty mad if you didn't invite me and William had..."

"I invited you because I wanted you to be here. Why are you so filled with self-doubt? It never ceases to amaze me how self-contained and strong you are but you still think of yourself in a negative fashion. Why are you so uncertain about yourself?"

"Because," Adrian sighed, trying to find a constellation to stare at. "You're the richest man in the universe, Vincent Phantomhive. I don't think anyone deserves to be by your side no matter who they are. Because I think I love you and I don't know what you think of me as. I want to get closer to you but all of these stones are blocking my path. You've got a lot of issues. I've got a lot of issues. And there is never going to be a good time for me to come clean and tell you how much I'm attracted to you or how you make my heart flutter. It really sucks, you know? You're the only man I've ever really liked and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to completely call you mine." Adrian allowed his mind to drift from thought to thought as the night wind blew through his hair. He fantasized about a world free of pain and torment. A world where Vincent loved him and he loved Vincent.

Adrian closed his eyes. "I want to make love with you. I want to love you. I want to touch you. I want to call you mine." He lets the words float in the air for a while, breathing in the night's breeze. "One day, I hope that's possible, Mr. Phantomhive."

"Adrian," Vincent began. Adrian shook his head. He pushed back the embarrassment of his words and just allowed them to be said.

"You don't need to say anything," he assured. "It's okay."

"I'm so so sorry," he apologized. "Really, I am, and I know you already know how impossible your wishes are for me to fulfill which makes me want to apologize even more. I'm not the man of your dreams, Adrain. I will never be that man. Come," Vincent stood up, "let me take you home."

"Why are you so uncertain about yourself?" Adrian repeated Vincent's question.

"What?"

"It never ceases to amaze me how strong and self-contained you are but you always seem to doubt yourself," he was paraphrasing now but the point still remained.

"This is different, Adrian," Vincent sighed. He shook his head. "You doubt yourself because you genuinely believe you're no good. I don't believe, I know, and one day you'll know even without me warning you. There is a difference," Vincent repeated. He grabbed Adrian's chin and forced it down to his level. He stared him in the eyes. "I could kill you with my toxicity."

"What if I want to be killed?" Adrian muttered. Vincent released his chin and turned around. He started walking to the car. First, however, he let out a series of laughs he couldn't suppress. At times he'd have to stop walking just to contain himself. The laughter consumed. What was so funny?

There was a swarm of cars in this garage. Of course there would be more than one car here. They arrived in one with William and Grell and would leave in two separate vehicles. Rich people be like. Adrian leaned up against the door. He didn't want to get inside yet. "What's so funny?" he frowned.

"Nothing," Vincent covered his hand with his mouth, suppressing a smirk and a chuckle. He opened his car door only for Adrian to storm over to him. He slammed the door shut and pushed Vincent against the car. He needed his answers.

"What's so funny?" he asked again.

"Oh my, I'm a rock between two hard places. Adrian, dear me, whatever shall I do?" Vincent was a hop skip and a jump away from rolling his eyes. Adrian decreased the distance. He pressed himself against Vincent and brought their faces too close together. Clothes still on...loophole? Vincent doesn't like being touched but he hasn't snapped yet. Adrian was too mad to realize what he was doing. He just wanted answers.

Vincent, quite tempted to see how far Adrian would go before being summoned back to Earth, decided (against his better judgement) to answer the question. "I've only heard 'What if I want to be killed?' one other time. In such a different context. I couldn't help but laugh. If _that_ man had said it as you had, I'm certain the world would be done for."

"Who?" Adrian frowned.

Vincent sighed. "I worked at a mattress store. One of the managers got caught up in some illegal activities. I tried to get him to stop but he smiled at me and laughed the question. I quit shortly after."

"You worked at a part time job?" Adrian's eyes widened. That's impossible.

"Just get in the car," Vincent avoided further explanation.

Adrian nodded and did as he was told for once. He stared out the window. Vincent drove. "Will you miss me?" Adrian didn't mean for this to be a final farewell but from the way things were going it sure sounded like it would be.

"I will miss you, Adrian, more than you know," Vincent smiled, albeit sadly.


	13. Chapter 13

The plane ride was terrible. So was the arrival. Adrian glared at anyone and everyone as he tried to find his luggage. He squinted at the sun through the towering glass, wishing with all of his heart that it would stop existing, and sighed. His brother should be here to pick him up at any moment. He would have a lot of questions. Adrian wouldn't have a lot of answers. The trip would continue like that.

Adrian wanted to visit his mother. His mother's grave, that is. It had been a while since he'd set foot on Florida land. This place was where he grew up. With dreams of Disney and an atmosphere of strange murderous Florida men. One of those men being his father. The bastard was dead now, thankfully. Adrian didn't have anyone else in his family besides his brother.

"So, why are you here this time?" Dr. Stein, Adrian's brother, asked him and grabbed a piece of his luggage.

"Wow, not even a 'Hello, how have you been?'" Adrian rolled his eyes.

"You only ever visit when you want to ask for advice on something," Dr. Stein was always serious. Right now, in this moment, Adrian was reminded of the Spears.

"Fair enough," Adrian sighed. "There is this guy..."

"Isn't there always?" Dr. Stein rolled his eyes.

"Let me finish, dumbass," Adrian frowned. The two meandered on over to his brother's car to drive back to the place where Adrian grew up.

"So there is this guy," Adrian tried again, "and he is magical. Well, that doesn't cover all of it. Anyways, he has a couple of screws loose."

"Just a couple?" Dr. Stein laughed. "I don't see what the issue is. Do you like him? Do you want to be with him for a considerable amount of the future? Then, what is stopping you from doing just that?" There it was. The perfect Dr. Stein logic that Adrian didn't have an ounce of.

"Fair enough," Adrian sighed, sinking into the car's seat. They were at a stoplight. He saw a familiar shade of blue. "Stop the car."

"The car is already stopped, moron, the light is red."

"Fantastic," Adrian opened the door. He ignored the screaming of his brother and the angry honking of other drivers. He ran in the direction of the blue hair. He placed his hand on the stranger's shoulder. It was a woman? It was a woman. She shared a resemblance to Vincent Phantomhive. He could see the familial tie. This was _that_ woman.

"You noticed me rather quickly, darling," she brushed Adrian's hand off of her shoulder and smiled. This expression was almost identical to Vincent's. "Allow me to introduce myself properly," she placed a hand on her chest. She was slightly shorter than Vincent but looked the same in almost every way. Her hair cut the same length. A beauty mark in the same spot. The difference being her clothing, the clear mounds on her chest, and the small wrinkles on her face. "My name is Claudia Phantomhive."

Anger. Resentment. A number of feelings coursed through Adrian's veins. He didn't know what to react to first. Instead, he asked a question. "You just happened to be in the city I was staying in?"

"Or you just happen to be staying in the city I was living in," she shrugged. "Let's sit, on that bench, and talk about a few things, darling. I have much to discuss with you."

"And if I refuse?" Adrian growled.

"Oh, I don't think you will. My darling boy doesn't know that I've won the court case yet. You wouldn't want me visiting him unannounced, would you? Now, let a mother have a nice conversation with her son-in-law." Claudia sat down and patted her hand on the spot next to her. Adrian bit his lower lip and sat. He folded his hands to keep from punching her.

"You've heard terrible things, I'm sure, but there is something I'd like to confess. I do love my darling boy, in ways you would never understand. I haven't had to justify my actions to anyone. Not one person. I do as I wish, to everyone I wish, including my darling boy. Prison has a way of changing people. I lost my drugs, lost my darling boy, and met a bunch of women I wouldn't have met otherwise. Oh, yes, those ladies, I love them dearly," Claudia placed a hand on her face and sighed, reminiscing. "They were so eager to do as they were told. It really tugged at my heartstrings. In any case, I don't plan on interacting with my darling boy. I know our relationship is irreparable. I have no intention of ruining your relationship with him either. You can forget you ever saw me. How about that?"

"I'm not going to lie to him," Adrian frowned.

"No?" Claudia removed the hand from her own face and placed it on Adrian's. She smiled, albeit sadistically, and her eyes sparkled with the light of the sun. "Look at you, so beautiful, so scarred, and a bit of a rebellious phase too. I love those kinds of people." She ran her hand down Adrian's face, over his chest, just above his crotch. "Are you sure you want to go against me? Darling, you've heard the stories about my crimes, right? My darling boy is just the same. It must've been hard for him to grow up in a perfect family when he is my exact copy."

"Vincent is nothing like you," Adrian growled, grabbing her hand by the wrist and forcing it away from him.

"Ah, yes, refuse me more, I like that in a man," Claudia smirked. "Oh, how I would love to tie you up. Control you. Watch you struggle beneath me as I touch you in all sorts of places." Claudia's face flushed, her eyes shrouded in lust, and she placed both of her hands on her cheeks, musing at the sight in her mind's eye. "I totally understand why my darling boy cares for you. You're so exhilarating." She reached out both of her hands to touch him. A voice, a familiar voice, beckoned her to stop.

"Don't touch him," Vincent, in Florida for some unknown reason, stared at this woman with nothing but raw contempt.

"Ah," Claudia turned her attention to Vincent, she was thrilled to see him. "My darling boy. You're here in front of me. I can hardly believe it." She stood up and touched his face. She smiled, running her hands along his chest. He didn't wince. He retreated further and further into himself, his eyes revealing nothing but that dark void of his existence. Adrian hated to see him like this. He was nothing more than a doll. "Will you return with me?" she smiled, whispering into his ear. "You look even more like your father now. You've exercised and built up your body too. I'd love to see more of it. Will you return with me?" she asked again.

"Will you leave him alone?"

"Of course, my darling boy, anything you wish, so long as I have you back again. A mother really can't have peace of mind without her son."

"Don't listen to that creature," Adrian pleaded. "You aren't her plaything, Vincent, you don't have to be near her ever again. What are you even doing here?"

Vincent opened his mouth to speak, his words were cut off by Claudia's finger on his lips. "Don't speak, just walk, actions speak louder than words, right?" she shot a cruel smile to Adrian and grabbed Vincent's arm, dragging him away.

Adrian was too stunned to move. He wanted to say something. The rage burning through his veins made him want to say something. He had no words. Vincent, as if understanding, stopped dead in his tracks. He'd been summoned back to earth. He grabbed Claudia's arm with his hand and pried it off of him. "I can take care of Mister Crevan on my own, thank you. I have no interest in going anywhere with you. Please cease trying to anger me."

"My darling boy," Claudia laughed. "I'm not trying to anger you at all."

"Is that so?" Vincent grabbed Claudia's chin and rested his hand on the base of her back. He pushed her into him and smiled down at her shocked expression. "Then you won't be upset when I leave you here. You won't see me again. You won't interfere with Adrian's life again. He is on vacation, you know? He didn't want you here to stress him out. If you do, that would anger me. I don't like being mad."

"I see," Claudia smiled. She released what little grasp on Vincent she had and walked away. "I do hope you enjoy your life, my darling boy," she waved behind her with her face not glancing back. "You've done quite well for yourself. I'm quite proud, you know?"

Vincent watched her walk away. He stared in that direction until she was gone from his vision. Then, he fell. He fell backward. Adrian moved as fast as he could to catch him. He called his brother, time to take Vincent Phantomhive home. Where did he begin when explaining this?


	14. Chapter 14

Vincent Phantomhive opened his eyes to see a picture of Jim Moriarty plastered to the ceiling. Moriarty, Andrew Scott edition, with an apple in his hand and a smile Vincent found himself replicating. Adrian had a type, it appeared. Nicely dressed and a bit messed up in the head. Well, who didn't enjoy a good rendition of Professor Moriarty? Let's be real. 

"I put the 'hot' in psychotic," Vincent muttered, sitting up. He ran his hand through his hair and snickered. 

"Well, I guess you're perfectly fine and there is nothing to worry about," Adrian's brother sighed and placed a tray of food down on the nightstand. Vincent, if he were a normal person, would've been embarrassed to be caught saying that to himself. However, he wasn't a normal person and shot a typical smile to Dr. Stein. 

"Is this Mister Crevan's childhood room?" Vincent asked, looking around. There were posters of various things. Merchandise and the like for different fandoms. 

"Hm, yes, you could call it that," Dr. Stein nodded. "Make no mistake though, Adrian is quite the fanboy. Don't let his persona fool you." 

"Don't say things like that," Adrian frowned, poking his head through the door. "Ah, he is awake. Thank the gods," Adrian breathed a sigh of relief. He walked in and placed his hands on Dr. Stein's shoulders so that he could push his annoying brother out of the room. "Leave. I have to talk to him. It's private." 

"Whatever you say. Just don't do anything kinky on that bed, it isn't built for that. Oh, an-"

"Just leave," Adrian rolled his eyes. He closed the door. He pressed his ear against it, checking for footsteps, and turned around to face Vincent. He looked at the walls of his room and frantically pulled down various posters. "Shit," he mumbled. "I'm sorry you had to see this." 

"Every fairy tale needs a good old fashioned villain." 

"W-what?" Adrian dropped all of the items currently in his hands. There was no way he wouldn't catch a reference to _Sherlock_ of all shows. What he couldn't wrap his head around was why Vincent, of all people, watched that. 

Vincent pointed to the ceiling and smiled. "It would be impossible for anyone to hate Andrew Scott." Those words, despite being pure fact, still baffled Adrian. Surely Vincent couldn't be talking about this after what he'd just gone through. 

"Are you okay? You looked pretty pale after seei-" 

"Don't worry about me, Mister Crevan," Vincent looked at his hands. He folded them. He unfolded them. He created fists with them. "I thought it would be different. I thought I could avoid seeing her my whole life. Then, she appeared, and it was difficult. I still see her in my sleep. I still have nightmares of those three years. It's still difficult."

Adrian sat on the bed. He nodded, understanding, but still not quite understanding. He would never truly understand. No one would. Adrian hadn't been tied up for three years. He was almost fooled by Vincent's performance until the male hugged himself and curled up on the bed. The noise that escaped his lips hurt Adrian's soul. 

"I don't like being touched," Vincent whispered. "She touched me, _again_." Adrian sat on the bed. He stared at Vincent. He reached out his hands to grab him but refrained for a moment. Would it be right to touch him? Probably not. He frowned. He didn't know how to help. Physical contact was the age-old method of comfort since the beginning of humanity. How does one comfort a human that does not like being touched? 

Vincent crawled out of the bed and stood up. "I apologize for ruining your vacation. I am only here because I heard from Diedrich about the trial. I shall leave you now," he nodded and began walking out the door. No. This was wrong. This was incredibly wrong. Adrian should stop him. He should stop him right now. 

He reached out and grabbed his hand. He stared at him. His mouth opened but nothing came out. He frowned. He opened his mouth again. He could only think of two words to say and they were something so incredibly simple, "Don't go." 

...

The graveyard was abundant with stones. Adrian had always thought so. This stone was just like the many others. He'd be going home shortly after seeing it. Adrian crossed his legs and sat down. Vincent stood awkwardly behind him, unsure of if he should leave or continue to stand here. He hadn't realized that Adrian's mother had passed away. He was out of place in this yard. 

"Hello," Adrian smiled as he traced the letters on the stone. "It's been a while." 

"Do you want me to..." Vincent pointed to the great beyond as if there were better places to stand. Everywhere in this yard of graves looked the same. 

Adrian shook his head. "It's fine." 

The longer Adrian sat in front of this grave chatting about random life events, the more Vincent felt out of place. He decided that he would give Adrian some space. He traversed the field staring at the multitude of identical stones. Each name different from the last. Some sounding incredibly noble. 

"Rachel Dalles," Vincent muttered the name. "Sounds like someone I should know," he sat on the ground before this particular stone. He squinted. He examined the name, the years, the note that meant little to him. He looked at the one directly next to it. 

"Cedric K. Ross? Rose?" Vincent squinted at the stone. He reached out to brush away the dirt but the name was cracked. A bouquet of flowers rested on the ground. Blue hyacinths. Sincerity. Vincent picked them up to sniff. He never understood the act of leaving flowers at a grave. Who was going to enjoy them? The dead? Impossible. They didn't know a thing. 

"Cedric," Vincent repeated the name. "I feel as if I should know that one too." Vincent laid down on the grass. He stared up at the sky and counted the clouds as he waited for Adrian. He closed his eyes with the bouquet on his chest and his hands folded over it. He listened to the trees whisper amongst themselves. His hair moving through the wind and long pieces of grass tickled his ear. 

"You look dead," Adrian said. 

"I am dead," Vincent opened his eyes. "Haven't you noticed?" 

"Then, should I do CPR to bring you back?" Adrian got on his knees and leaned over Vincent. Not his face, mind you, but his crotch. 

"What are you trying to revive?" 

"Shhh, corpses don't speak," Adrian shushed him and licked his lips. 

"Mister Crevan," Vincent shook his head. "This is sacred ground. There is a church not ten feet away. Have you no shame?" 

Adrian bowed his head and folded his hands. He let his hair fall before his face. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Give us this day, our daily dicks, and lead us into temptation." 

"I think you may have gotten that a bit wrong on multiple counts." 

"I was paraphrasing," Adrian smirked. 

"I fear what you will do to my dead body," Vincent sat up. 

"Don't assume you'll die before me. I won't allow it," Adrian crossed his arms. Vincent laughed. He grabbed Adrian's hand and stood up, running down the aisles of dead people, into the woods. 

"Where are we going?" Adrian could hardly see with his hair blowing in every which direction. 

"Hush now, undertaker, or you'll never get your corpse." 

A left, a right, another left, and the two were in a hidden field. Vincent released his grasp on Adrian and ran into the center of it. As if he were a child, he trampled on the tall grass and laughed before plopping down on the ground. Once again staring at the sky. 

"Where the hell did you go?" Adrian, attempting to get his hair under control, wandered aimlessly through the grass before he tripped, fell, and slammed face-first into the ground. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Adrian sat up. He rubbed his nose. It wasn't bleeding. That's a plus. Vincent was only a few feet away. If he had landed more gracefully, and not so soon, he would've landed face-first into that dick he so longed to suck. 

Adrian scooted over and sat on Vincent. He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together, plotting all of the things he would do if Vincent didn't wake up from his catnap. Vincent looked beautiful no matter what he did. Even sleeping in a field of grass was sexy. 

Adrian opened his mouth to voice his plotting, only for the rain to ruin the moment. The sky was so clear a moment ago! Why was it raining now? Vincent's eyes snapped open. The soft ground was becoming mud. Adrian refused to get off. 

"We have to get out of the rain." 

"No," Adrian pouted. "I was cockblocked by Diedrich the one time and now mother nature is screwing with me! When am I going to be allowed to have my fun?"

"You're getting drenched. You're going to catch a cold. We have to get out of here," Vincent sighed, completely disregarding his muddied suit or the fact that he was more at risk for getting sick than Adrian. 

"You're getting drenched too, in case you haven't noticed." 

"We have to go, Adrian." 

"Not until you promise to let me take a shower with you when we get back," he frowned. 

"Fine." 

"Promise?" 

"I promise, now get off of me." 

"You have to let me touch you too." Adrian hadn't expected an answer to this. He just wanted to stall getting off of Vincent for a bit. 

"Fine." 

"That's what I thou- wait, _really_?" Adrain processed what he heard, not believing that he heard it. 

"Yes, now we really do have to go," Vincent insisted. 

" _Fine_." 


	15. Chapter 15

Vincent was drenched, to say the least, in muddied clothing. When it rained, it poured, as they say. He stood in the bathroom with Adrian behind him. He didn't hesitate to begin stripping, (call it the confidence of the richest man alive). There was nothing worse than wet fabric clinging. He stared at the bathroom's design more carefully, dropping his disgusting suit behind him. It was simple, with the exception of two shackles hanging from the ceiling. Curious, Vincent made the mistake of walking towards them. Was this design something Adrian wanted? Or perhaps something his brother added to the room? They were hanging from a piece of the ceiling right above the shower. Vincent frowned, raising an eyebrow, he stepped into the tub, and, against his better judgment, poked one of the shackles. It came to life, attacking him, and grabbed his wrists.

Needless to say, the cold shackle against skin threw Vincent back into the past. Once again he was chained to a single location. "What the fuck?!" Vincent stared at the ceiling. Were these blasted things alive? He poked it for Pete's sake. He didn't put them on. "Who the hell has _shackles_ in their bathroom damnit!"

"Why did you put them on?" Adrian rushed over. He tripped over his feet and nearly face planted to the ground but he made it over to the tub eventually. Adrian stared at the shackles, afraid to touch them, and looked around for a key. They hadn't even started taking the actual shower yet.

"I didn't put them on! They put themselves on!" Vincent snapped.

"I can't find the key. Do these things even have a key? They weren't here the last time I visited..." Adrian scrambled around looking for the key that didn't exist. They weren't going to come off. "We're just going to have to work around this," Adrian decided, reaching around Vincent to turn on the water.

Vincent stared at them, gritted his teeth, and pulled with all of his might. Something would have to give, either the chain, the ceiling, or his wrists. Wrists could heal. Ceilings could be replaceable. But his mind wouldn't survive reliving those memories.

"I know this is probably the last thing you want to hear right now but please calm down," Adrian, against his better judgment, cupped Vincent's face in his hands. He forced his head down to stare at him, not the shackles. "I'll find a way to get you out of this even if I have to cut the chain myself."

"Don't act as if you aren't enjoying this situation," Vincent's eyes were relentlessly cold. "You've often thought of chaining me in place, haven't you?"

"I would never do something if you didn't want me to," Adrian frowned, offended by the notion.

"Seeing as to how this is an unavoidable situation," Vincent let out a long sigh. "We have no choice in the matter but to take advantage of it. You'll have to clean me, Adrian."

He nodded, even though he wasn't certain that was the best idea, but he agreed to it. Adrian lathered his hands with soap and ran them against Vincent's body. He could see him visibly flinch at the contact, anxious to have it be done and over with. The more Adrian tried to toss his feelings to the side and be concerned with Vincent's emotions on the matter...the more he found himself lost in his skin, entranced by it. So soft and smooth. Barely a mark. He wanted to bite it.

"You have such beautiful legs," Adrian slid his hand up Vincent's knee to his hip. The water trailed down them both. Vincent winced. Adrian stood up, pushing Vincent against the cold wall of the shower. Vincent gasped as the wall made contact with his skin. Adrain closed the space between them, unable to contain himself, he bit Vincent's ear. With the shackles keeping Vincent in place, Adrian had much more freedom than he expected. He had no more control, despite trying so hard to keep this part of himself hidden. He desperately wanted Vincent Phantomhive to be his and only his.

"Unfortunately for me, there is a truth I can't ignore. I want you here," Adrian said, forcing Vincent's legs apart. His lips moving from Vincent's ear, to his mouth, down his torso, to his dick. Adrian lifted Vincent's legs and placed them on his shoulders. With the support of the chains, this wasn't difficult to manage. Vincent had the shower wall to use as well.

The water slid down his chest in a delicate fashion. Adrian smirked. Vincent's hardness was so close. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Vincent hadn't said anything. He didn't refuse and his flinching had subsided. Either he was broken or he was enjoying the experience somewhat.

Adrian took his length into his mouth. His tongue insistently swirled around and around, the intensity was almost painful. Vincent moaned. The chains rattled as he attempted to move, wishing only to grab Adrian's long locks. To touch and be touched, to run his hands through those silver strands. Sweet euphoria. The thought made him moan again, much to Adrian's delight.

The shackles released when Vincent did. His hands slammed down, hitting the wall, he cried out and growled. Adrain remained still. The only movement he made was to get Vincent's legs off of his shoulders. He knelt on the bottom of the tub, looking away, afraid of what was to come next. He knew he was in the wrong. He wouldn't blame Vincent if he never wanted to see him again.

For the next twenty minutes, Vincent said nothing. He did nothing but stand in one location and rub his wrists furiously, wishing the feeling would disappear only to have it still linger. "I'm going to have to punish you for this," he finally spoke. Adrian didn't know if he felt relieved or more terrified.

Vincent grabbed Adrian's chin and forced him to look up at him. "I don't know if you're bold or just plain crazy."

"You're not...mad?"

"Mad?" A clouded gaze stared down at Adrian, "Oh no, I'm _livid_."


	16. Chapter 16

"When you're in here, you are completely mine," Vincent's voice was music to Adrian's ears. He was blindfolded, naked, and sitting on his knees in this magical room. This was his first time in here but hopefully not his last. Vincent had a lot of energy to release. He'd made him furious with their shower together. This was his punishment. Adrian didn't mind. In all actuality, this was more of a reward. It was also proof Vincent wasn't entirely disgusted by him.

"You have such a beautiful body," Vincent grabbed Adrian's chin, forcing it upward, "I could gaze at you forever. I want you to enjoy your body as much as I do. Stand up." Adrian stood. "Lift your arms above your head." Adrian did so. He felt the cold shackles against his wrists. He was chained to the ceiling. Ah. Seemed familiar. The difference being that Adrian thrived on this. The feeling of cold metal keeping him in place. Was there anything better?

"You're biting your lip again." Adrian could feel Vincent's breath on his lips. He leaned forward, eager for a taste of Vincent, but Vincent moved back. A riding crop. Adrian knew for sure that's what it was tracing his scars. He shivered. _Smack_. He flinched as the contact was made. He moaned, unable to hold back. He couldn't see. He couldn't brace himself. His knees were unable to withstand this anticipation. He might fall. Except, he couldn't fall. He was chained to the ceiling.

Adrian felt Vincent's hands move through his hair. He was braiding it. For what purpose? Vincent moved his arm around Adrian, pressing the crop against his lower abdomen, Adrian moved away from it into Vincent. He gasped upon feeling Vincent's chest against his back. His erection against his ass. Drool trailed down Adrian's neck. He had a habit of drooling. Vincent slapped his inner thigh with the crop. Adrian gasped again. He didn't know if he was aroused because of Vincent's erection pressed against his ass or because of the fear of not knowing whether or not Vincent would slap his cock with that riding crop of his. He wanted Vincent. His ass was already prepared for him. Lubed up and fingered fully, as Vincent had requested before they even entered this room.

"Do you want me?"

"Please."

"Please what?" Vincent flicked the crop closer to Adrian's erect dick.

"Please, _Sir_ ," Adrian whimpered.

Vincent slid his cock into Adrian. The man lost all ability to stand as Vincent rammed in and out of him. The only thing that kept him upright was this chain. He moaned, viciously, loudly, as Vincent kept this steady pace. He wanted nothing more than to feel the fullness of Vincent's dick in his ass. He was getting his wish. He came, in no time at all, and all ability for Adrian to think or feel was lost. He hung from the ceiling, with Vincent's arms, wrapped around him to keep him upright, as the torture never ceased. Vincent hadn't had optimal pleasure yet.

He could hear the harsh breathing by his ear. He could feel the build-up of Vincent's movements and the feeling in his own, newly formed, erection. Sweet, agonizing, intense, beautiful, Adrian lost all sense of who he was as an individual. He only felt Vincent's chest on his back, his arms around him, and the warmth of his dick's sweet juices in his ass. Adrian was dissolved in his embrace. Ceaseless whimpers escaping him. He wanted more. He wanted Vincent again. Again and again, until his body couldn't take it anymore.

The shackles were released. Adrian couldn't stand the weight of his own body. He fell into Vincent, those sturdy arms able to catch him. "Stamina, Mister Crevan, you don't seem to have any," Vincent's voice filled with laughter. His blindfold was removed. He could stare at that lovely face now. Was it over? His 'punishment' done so soon? Surely that couldn't be the last of it. Adrian wanted more, so much more.

"Do you recognize this?" Vincent held out rope. Rope? Ah, wasn't that the rope he got that one time? The two of them barely knew each other then. Adrian blushed profusely. He'd been thinking about that rope in such a naughty fashion all this time only to have it used on him? Full circle. Adrian pressed his wrists together, fully prepared for whatever it was that should happen to him. Vincent tied the rope around his wrists. It wasn't too tight. It wasn't too lose. His wrists were sore from the shackles.

"Lean forward, grab the bedpost." Adrian did so. The more he leaned forward the harder it was to stand. The more he leaned forward the more he felt Vincent's new erection between his ass cheeks. He clung onto the post for dear life, unsure of if he would last a second time.

"Lower," Vincent ordered. Adrian nodded, biting his lower lip to keep from moaning, and did so.

"Don't let go, Mister Crevan, or I'll have to punish you." Adrian wanted that but at the same time, he didn't. He refused to let go. "Part your legs." Adrian tried his best. Standing was hard. His dick was even harder. Vincent's even harder than that. He gasped when Vincent reentered him. The feeling of Vincent's cold hands on his hips. Heavenly. One hand released its grasp on Adrian's hip and grabbed his braid. Vincent wrapped it around his wrist and pulled Adrian's hair. His head forced back. His moans were louder still. Vincent's nails dug into his hip.

Merciless onslaught. In and out. Back arched. Vincent's moves were rough. If Adrian came again he would fall to his doom and be unable to cling to this post. Adrian's mind was blended. He was a mess. He was destroyed. It all faded to black. When he awoke, he was resting on top of Vincent. Barechested Vincent. They were still in this room. Still here. But Vincent, the man that hated being touched, allowed him to rest his head on his chest. Adrian smiled. He'd longed for his moment.

"Are you quite alright?" Vincent asked.

Adrian nodded. "Never better. Although, I imagine I'll be sore tomorrow."

"We can make you sorer, if you'd like," Vincent teased. Adrian kind of wanted that. He pushed the thought to the side. No. Not right now. No, actually, yes, please. Vincent moved his arm down to Adrian's ass. He grasped it firmly. "This is mine, you know? All mine. Only mine," he raised his hand and slapped those cheeks. Adrian gasped. He could feel the handprint. His ass still ready and waiting for Vincent.

Vincent pressed his finger to Adrian's lips. He forced it inside. "Suck," he ordered. Adrian did so. He wasn't mentally prepared for Vincent's hand to slap his ass again. He almost bit down on Vincent's fingers. Would he get punished? His dick quivered with excitement. He had to focus on sucking. One finger inserted into his ass. He moaned. Another one. He continued to suck, unsure of why he was sucking, except for Vincent's own personal amusement. He blushed upon his dick getting hard against Vincent's leg. He tried to move away only for Vincent to press another finger into his ass and push him forward. Adrian rubbed his dick against Vincent's leg. He couldn't touch it. He wasn't permitted to masturbate. So, he would have to make do by humping Vincent's leg. Vincent's hands were occupied, after all.

"Are you frustrated, Adrian?" Vincent smirked. "Do you want a sweet release? Do you crave it? Only I'm allowed to give you that." Adrian nodded. Only Vincent.

Vincent removed his fingers from Adrian's mouth and grabbed his cock. The saliva dripped down. Adrian felt absolutely disgusted with a slimy liquid on his dick. But, the pleasure of Vincent's fingers grazing his skin was enough to balance it out. Vincent was touching him. Vincent's hand was on his dick. Vincent's hand. Oh, yes. Rhythmic pumping and Adrian smiled with glee. The two should really take showers more often if he was to be punished like this every time.


	17. Chapter 17

Adrian stared at the ceiling. He was lonely in this giant room without Vincent next to him. That wasn't all a dream, was it? The two really had made it back to Vincent's lavish living area only for him to be punished for touching the man, right? Adrian blinked. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the ceiling some more. It wasn't going away. This was reality. Where was Vincent? He missed Vincent. 

Wish and ye shall receive, Vincent's face leaned over his line of vision. "You're awake? Good Morning to you then, or is it afternoon now?" He shook his head and sighed. Time was irrelevant anyway. It didn't matter in the world of fanfiction. That's what time skips and chapter ends were for. 

"Vincent!" Adrian lept up and glomped him. He'd been so lonely in this room that all reason went out the window upon seeing him. The two crashed onto the floor. Vincent groaned. Maybe he should've held back at least a little bit. Nah. What would be the fun in that? 

"You have so much energy for someone who should be incredibly sore."

"I thrive off of your existence," Adrian replied, refusing to get off of Vincent. He clung to him with no other reason than to feel his warmth.

"You sound like an incubus. Although the idea is mildly entertaining, and I do appreciate the sentiment, unfortunately, I have work to attend to and you aren't on my list of things 'to-do' today," Vincent grabbed Adrian's arms and pried them off. He stood up and dusted the dirt off of his clothing. There wasn't much. He liked to keep his living space perfectly clean. So clean people could lick the floor. And trust me, that was an option for some. 

"Aw, why not?" Adrian pouted.

"I should apologize to the universe for turning you into this," Vincent sighed and covered his eyes with his hand. He sighed again. "What happened to the cute little shy Adrian of the past? I do miss him."

Ignoring the comment, Adrian continued his struggle for Vincent's attention, "If my ass is off-limits due to...reasons...what about yours?" Adrian placed his hands on Vincent's hips and kissed his nice little round cheeks. He had a nice ass, even if it was stuck in dreary suit clothes all the time. 

"Mister Crevan," Vincent moved his leg and stepped on Adrian's crotch. "I think you are gravely mistaken about something here." Adrian squealed and released his grasp on Vincent's hips. The man turned around and grabbed Adrian by his hair, forcing him up off the ground just a bit, which made his foot apply more pressure on Adrian's crotch. "You'll have to be much more clever about trying to make me submissive. An _accident_ in a shower is nothing compared to me willingly sprawling out on a bed for you."

"So, you're saying it's _possible_?" Adrian smiled with hope.

Vincent shook his head, sighing once more, and sat on the bed. He pointed to the spot in front of him. "On your knees, here, right now." Adrian shuffled over. He was already kneeling he just had to move to the right location.

"Good boy," Vincent praised him. "Open your mouth. Wider, that's not going to help anything." Adrian did so. His eyes were closed. He felt something enter. Balls? They're cold, smooth, heavy, and had a metallic taste to them. Adrian's drool encompassed them entirely. He had great saliva glands for this sort of thing. Was that something he could write on a resume? Probably not...

"Stand up. Turn around and grab your ankles," Vincent demanded. Adrian did so. It was easy for him to do as instructed but he didn't enjoy Vincent staring at his ass. It was different if they were in a dark room. There was something about it now that made him uncomfortable. He gasped as Vincent's hands caressed his cheeks. He carefully inserted the metallic balls of doom. One right after the other.

"Stand up straight."

Adrian's ass felt strange. He tried to straighten up but each time he moved he felt the string of balls move around. It was weird. Lewd, even. Vincent gestured to his lap. "I want you across my knee." Adrian bit his lower lip. He couldn't stop his ass from clenching around those metallic balls inside him. They didn't feel as if they'd fall out but his body moved on its own.

He bent over and sprawled out across Vincent's lap. Vincent played with his hair, moving it out of his face. Adrian leaned into his touch. Vincent lifted his hand and brought it down harshly. Adrian heard the slap echo in his ears. It hurt. It didn't hurt. He didn't know how to feel. The balls forced their way inside him more but were just short of reaching that one spot Vincent hit so well. He only lusted for Vincent more. Vincent created a pattern with his movements. Adrian expected them one after the other. A gentle rub here. A gentle rub there. And then, smack, right on his ass. Adrian thrived.

"There is one major difference between you and I," Vincent explained, sliding his hand along Adrian's spine. "You enjoy this, don't you? I'd hate it. Think outside the box, Mister Crevan." Vincent pushed Adrian off of his lap, stepped over him, and walked away leaving the balls where they were. Adrian couldn't take them out on his own, for fear of damaging something. This was going to be a hell of an awkward day. Adrian sighed. 

"How do I think outside the box?" he rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling again. 


	18. Chapter 18

With nothing better to do, and the hours of the night creeping up on him, Adrian took a shower then found Vincent's office. He stared at the center of the room. It reminded him of the first time he'd ever met Vincent Phantomhive. This room was nearly identical to the one at his company. The desk. The lack of things. The singular intricate painting on the wall. Adrian stared at the focused face of Mr. Phantomhive. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man on the planet. Too beautiful for Adrian. Too beautiful for anyone. He was a Greek god. A vampire. Any mixture of the two.

"Mr. Phantomhive," Adrian walked forward to the desk. He placed his hand on it, gently sliding it across, and walked around the desk. "A certain Mr. Crevan will see you now," Adrian smiled.

"Did you take a shower?" he asked, without looking up. "You smell clean, perhaps I shall lay you across my desk right now? What a sight that would be."

Adrian sat on the desk and spread his legs. He ignored the papers and tilted his head, "I choose the desk." He wasn't expecting Vincent to do it. He should've known better than that. Vincent was a man of his word. He meant everything he said. Which could be a blessing and a curse. This time, a curse. Adrian shouldn't have been too bold.

"If you insist," Vincent stood up and placed his hand on Adrian's lower back. He pushed him into him. The two entered a fanciful kiss. Adrian wrapped his legs around Vincent, forcing him forward, into him. He really wanted to be fucked on this desk. He'd been imagining it since day one. Adrian just didn't realize how badly he wanted that until now.

"Are you sore?" Vincent asked.

"A little," Adrian admitted. Of course he was sore, he couldn't figure out how to get the balls out of his ass.

"I like you sore, Adrian, it reminds you that only I have been where I have been," a flicker of possessive entered Vincent's eyes. Adrian quaked.

"You're being weirder than usual, Vincent," Adrian admitted. He had no qualms with it, in fact Adrian found it nice to be this wanted. It boosted a small piece of his confidence.

"Am I?" Vincent pulled back. Adrian refused to release his legs. He clung tighter, keeping Vincent in place.

"Just a bit."

"I see." There was conflict in Vincent's expression. That wasn't something Adrian normally saw. He shouldn't have said anything. There goes his boosted confidence. He grabbed Vincent's hand and placed it on his back, guiding it under his pant line down to his ass. "You never took them out?" Vincent's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"You're the one that told me not to touch myself," Adrian chuckled. "Don't you remember?"

"That does seem like something I'd say..."

Vincent pushed Adrian down onto his desk. He stripped him of his clothing, allowing it to fall all around them, and kissed his chest. "You're so smooth," he grinned into Adrian's skin. "Did you use lotion?"

"Just a bit," Adrian blushed, not wanting to admit that he'd searched hours for lotion. He looked in all of the not obvious places before realizing some people kept it in the bathroom.

"You smell like me now," Vincent chuckled.

"Must be a side effect of being yours."

Vincent froze. Time stood still. Adrian's heart rate growing more and more rapid with the longer Vincent didn't move. Did he say something wrong? Shit. "This is a mistake," Vincent stood up and turned to face the window behind his desk. "You should leave, Mister Crevan."

"What?"

"Did you not hear me?" Vincent turned his head ever so slightly. His eye the coldest it had been in some time. "You should _leave_."

Anger. Rage. Frustration. Hadn't they gone through enough together already? Why was he pushing him away again? What could be so godawful about Mr. Phantomhive that he never let Adrian get too close?

"I'm not leaving," Adrian sat up. He crossed his arms and frowned. A determination building up inside him, refusing to allow him to go anywhere else even if the big bad wolf declared it. Adrian truly was a masochist at heart. How terrible. Or, how fantastic, depending upon how you look at it.

"You are leaving, right now," Vincent pointed to the door. "You don't know how horrendous of a monster I can be. You don't want to know. So we're going to end this, right now, before anything happens to you."

"Surely you have some sort of built-in limit."

"It's a mistake to think like that, Mister Crevan."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't care before you believe me? We're made for each other, Mr. Phantomhive."

"That's a fairytale."

"Then let's keep it one. Punish me."

"What?"

"Show me how bad it can be," Adrian reached out and grabbed Vincent's arm. "If you're that worried, why not just drive me away by force? Punish me."

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I do know, but do you?"

Vincent grabbed Adrian's hair and pulled him off the desk. He dragged him to the door of his office and pushed him out. "Twenty-four hours, Mister Crevan, then show up in that room."

Adrian watched as the door slammed closed. All he wanted was some steamy office sex and now he opened a much larger can of worms. This was a nightmare. "I'm going to fuck it up this time," Adrian sighed, going back to the bedroom. "Maybe I would've made it better as a sex slave...?"


	19. Chapter 19

Adrian was kneeling on the floor. He was naked. He stared at the ground. Vincent's feet in front of him. He longed to kiss them. He longed to run his tongue over them and suck each toe individually. Adrian hadn't realized his fascination with feet. He reached out to touch them, unable to control himself. He leaned down to kiss Vincent's feet. He longed to look up and stare at his reaction.

"Get up," Vincent ordered. "Sit on the bed, lean back, close your eyes." Adrian did so. He felt Vincent's fingers place a face mask over his eyes. He felt the familiar weight of shackles on his wrists and ankles. He wasn't going to be able to move today. That was fine.

Music echoed in Adrian's ears. The excitement built up within him. He was filled with longing, anticipation, a need for Vincent Phantomhive to touch him. Fur, it felt soft, ran down Adrian's body. It touched him in a multitude of places. Adrain's head lulled to the side. He wanted Vincent more than ever. This was a cruel tease.

But that wasn't what was happening. No, that was a blissful dream Adrian had the night before. That's what he wanted, pleasurable pain. That wasn't what he was going to get. Now he was in this room, without having done the proper preparation, fully clothed, and staring at Vincent Phantomhive. "Show me," Adrian whispered. "Show me how bad it can be. How much it can hurt. I need to know. Punish me."

"Are you ready for this? Truly?"

Adrian nodded.

"Bend over the bench," Vincent gestured.

Adrian did so.

The atmosphere changed. Adrian was scared of it, but only slightly. He couldn't see behind him and he could feel the bathrobe shift, revealing his ass. "Count," Vincent ordered. The sounds of a cracking belt against him. This wasn't like being spanked. This was a whole new sensation. He was out for punishment, not pleasure.

"One," Adrian said. The sound, the feeling, of a cracking belt against his skin. He cried out. It hurt. It hurt so badly. Fear. Fear pushed through his existence.

"Two." The pain of it again. He could feel the blood rise to his skin. He might be bleeding.

"Three." Tears rested on the edges of Adrian's eyes. This was hard. It was hard for him to do. Vincent wasn't holding anything back. He'd asked that of him. But, now he was reminded of his own childhood trauma. Did Vincent experience this? Adrian had. He remembered the image of his father towering above him with a knife in hand. _For science_. He had always told Adrian that. _For science_.

"Four," Adrian yelled. It angered him that he thought of his father. It angered him that he cried. His ass felt as if it was on fire.

"Five." He couldn't handle this. This wasn't even the worst of it, was it? Some part of Vincent was still holding himself back. He could feel that much in the air.

"Six." The belt dropped. Adrian collapsed on the ground. He looked over at Vincent. A pained expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," Vincent looked away. "I'm so incredibly sorry. You shouldn't associate with me, truly, Adrian. Don't force yourself. As much as I am sorry, I still feel the incredible thrill of punishing someone," Vincent placed his hand on his face. His eyes clouded over. His lips turned upward. A sadistic expression. Adrian had seen it once before. That night they had dinner. "It's abuse, not even borderline abuse. I hurt people and I feel such pleasure in it. One day, I'll meet the perfect masochist. A human that loves to be tormented day in and day out," Vincent lifted his hands to the ceiling, gesturing for gods or God to grace him with that human one day. "The perfect combination. A man that can't help but harm people. A human that can't help but want to be harmed."

Vincent turned in a circle, around the room he went, laughing as he did so. He was losing himself to the madness that he'd tried to hold back. There was no more hiding it for Adrian's sake. Adrian had asked him to unleash it. "Yes, yes," he spun around. "The need to be punished. The need for me to punish. How perfect of a match would that be? No fear of rejection. Just perfection. Two sides of the same coin melded into one," Vincent placed his hands together, intertwining his fingers.

"I've fallen in love with you, Vincent," Adrian's tears continued to pour down his face. Vincent stopped his musing. He took a step back from Adrian.

"What?" A raw, pure, undiluted fear in his eyes. He was terrified of the thought that someone loved him. How could anyone love a man as messed up in the head as he was? "No, no, Dri, you can't love me. That's so _wrong_ ," he was horrified. He shook his head. "No."

"Why?"

"Look at me," Vincent gestured to himself. "I can't make you happy. I can't do that. Just look at what I want to do to you. I want to torture you with all of my being. I want to see you bleed, scar, abused beyond belief. That isn't something a healthy person would seek out in a partner. No, Adrian, no, that's so wrong," Vincent shook his head. "I am not capable of loving you, not the way I am, I can't give or receive love, Adrian." Ah, so he knew that himself.

"That's okay," Adrian assured. He might've been terrified but the thought of losing Vincent was even more terrifying. Adrian didn't want to admit to himself that he enjoyed being tormented. Who would?

"No, it's not," Vincent ran his hand through his hair. He sighed. "You deserve someone better, Mister Crevan," he walked over to Adrian. He helped him to his feet. He escorted him out of the room covered in red.

"Diedrich," he called down the stairs. The man appeared in an instant. Vincent looked utterly broken, in agonizing pain, which ensured the decision that crossed his mind. Adrian didn't want it.

"Adrian, goodbye," Vincent let go. He pushed him gently forward. Adrian took one step down towards Diedrich. Vincent opened the door to his pleasure room again. "He will help you gather your things. He will take you home. I apologize, Mister Crevan," the door closed behind Vincent, ever so slowly, one fateful glance behind him, Adrian could see his sorrow. "I am not the man for you," he said. The door shut.

The only man Adrian had ever loved. The only man he'd ever slept with. A crippling pain went through his entire being. Head to toe, a longing for Mr. Phantomhive. "Vincent!" He cried, sinking to the floor in front of the room. He banged on the door. "Please don't do this! Please?" He didn't care if it was for his own good. He wanted Vincent Phantomhive. His thoughts had never changed. His hands slammed against the door repeatedly. He felt his knuckles bleed.

"Mr. Crevan," Diedrich grabbed his wrists. "Mr. Crevan, please, there is no changing his mind. Give him time, I promise you, I'll try my best to talk to him when the time is right." Adrian didn't stop. He kept banging on the door, crying Vincent's name. He struggled as Diedrich grabbed him and pulled him away by force. Diedrich's words of comfort weren't comforting at all. He struggled and he struggled until he was so tired all he could do was freeze. He stopped. He allowed Diedrich to help him down the stairs. To help him get dressed. To take him home.

"Vincent," Adrian sobbed, staring out the window of the car. His hands still bleeding, still in pain from slamming the door, but his heart was much more broken. "I just want to love you."


End file.
